Family Matters
by drama-princess
Summary: Harry, Snape, and Sinistra must pose as a Muggle family over the summer holidays-- and in doing so, don't only discover a web of intrigue in the Order of Phoenix, but something about themselves as well.
1. The First Morning

A/N: My eternal love and gratitude go out to everyone who reviewed and was so absolutely _wonderful _about this fic-- I'm sorry it took so long to get out, this chapter was beastly indeed. I'm going to aim for updates once a week, probably on weekends-- I'm at college now, so I don't have an excess amount of time. . . but once a week's not too shabby, especially for me.   
  
I must throw out another word of thanks for my beta, She's A Star. This fic would be so so utterly dead without her. And she contributed the absolutely wonderful last line for this chapter. So go-- read her stuff! *pushes* After this, naturally.   
  
Chapter 2: The First Morning of the Rest of Your Life  
  
Looks like Harry Potter, the best captain the Gryffindor Quidditch team has seen in decades, is on the trail of the Snitch!  
  
Harry guided his Firebolt into a reckless drive, the wind plunging through his hair and whistling through his glasses. The grass swept by in a blur of green, and he stretched out his hand to grasp the flitting golden ball. When his fingers closed around the Snitch, he heard a great roar throughout the stadium. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were running down to meet him on the landing, and he couldn't help but see that if Ginny kept in his direction, she would stumble, and he would have to catch her in his arms. . . suddenly, Ron and Hermione seemed to fade back into the mass of screaming Gryffindors, and Ginny's smile just kept shining steadily at him as she tumbled, heading for his arms--   
  
But he couldn't catch her-- Snape's hand had closed on the back of his neck, and he was dragging Harry up the stairs to his bedroom of 4 Privet Drive. He tried to shout that they couldn't stay here pretending to be Muggles, and that it was only half past eight, but Amalthea just looked over a pile of books at him, shrugging her shoulders. . .   
  
You didn't know the charm to clean your spectacles, did you? she asked sadly, pointing her wand at his filthy glasses. How can I help you if you can't even learn that?   
  
He began to shout the spell, but the bedroom door swung shut behind him, leaving him to face a suddenly beruffled and pink bed, complete with a dummy and teddy bear on the nightstand next to the pram.   
  
And as it might be expected, Harry sat bolt upright in his bed, shivering in spite of the warm summer morning. For a moment he just sat there, pondering the surreality of Snape, Quidditch, Ginny falling, and his impossibly pink bedroom.   
  
This was just _ridiculous. _  
  
Letting out a frustrated sigh, Harry fumbled for his glasses and swung his feet out of bed. He'd been having these dreams ever since that fateful day in the infirmary, and they'd just been getting more and more over the top. Although, the strangest one yet had been the extraordinarily bizarre dream-- nightmare, he corrected himself-- in which Snape did a lot of heavy breathing and proclaimed that he was Harry's father. And instead of screaming at that idea, as was only right and proper, Harry had stared into the mirror, horrorstruck by the way his nose was expanding into a direct copy of Snape's.   
  
Hermione had said flatly when he'd checked his nose for the fifteenth time. You are being utterly and completely absurd.   
  
I'm not absurd, Harry had protested hotly, running his fingers over his offending facial feature all the while. Was that a _bump? _His nose was swelling. Had to be. Maybe he'd better stop examining it. Was it true that you could bring down the size of your nose with a poultice of lavender and bobotuber pus diluted with hazel water? Or was that the recipe for warts on your left thumb? He tried to picture himself asking Snape for the exact ingredient list.   
  
_Hey, Professor Snape, I had a dream last night that you were my dad and that my nose practically exploded, and there's this bump, you see-- and by the way, you hated my mum as much as my dad, right? Right?   
_  
Yes, you are, Hermione had continued grimly, looking down at him. Stop fingering your nose-- it looks fine. That bump you are attempting to wear down is miniscule and has been there since I've known you. Your nose is-- Harry, stop that.   
  
Stop what? he had asked innocently, easing his hand up to his mouth to cover a false yawn.  
  
Harry, I mean it. Touch your nose again, and I'll hex it so it does look like Snape's.   
  
Harry had immediately sat on his hands.  
  
Thank you, Hermione then said calmly, settling herself down in a squashy armchair across from him. Now. Harry. There are two ways you can handle this situation.   
  
Yeah, murder and--  
  
You can either be childish, Hermione had continued sternly. And fight with Professor Snape all summer. When you return, you'll probably have destroyed any chance you had of proving yourself. Or, on the other hand, you could choose to be mature. And perhaps--perhaps you'll make Potions a bit easier on yourself.   
  
Harry muttered to himself, remembering Hermione's long and detailed lecture. Maturity. Will prove self to be valuable, contributing student. Will resist temptation to pour cauldron on Snape's head. Will not refer to him as greasy git in front of Amalthea.   
  
He paused in the middle of pulling of his best Muggle shirt over his head-- which, unfortunately, was still three times too large for him. Dudley's hand me downs might be in fairly decent condition, but his cousin just seemed to keep. . . swelling. Harry might have filled out decently during his past five years at Hogwarts, but he was still-- and probably would always be-- skinny.   
  
Will not refer to him as a greasy git, he instructed himself. he amended with a sigh. He'd had the luxury of staying out of Snape's way during the past week or so, but today was the dreaded day of Shopping. In Muggle London.   
  
Of all the places, why London? There were evidently some god of the universe that had it in for Harry. Quite simply, no other explanation existed.   
  
Stop complaining, Potter, he told himself silently. This won't be nearly as bad as you're making it out to be. Sighing, he tugged a comb through his hair, making no difference whatsoever, and squared his shoulders. Shopping. In Muggle London.  
  
You said that already, dear, his mirror offered cheerfully. And your hair's not _that_ terrible today.   
  
Harry's only response was to growl and march out of the room. He was about to make his way down to the common room when he caught two rather familiar voices arguing below. Carefully easing himself round the turn, he sank back into the shadowed bend and listened.   
  
Severus, you simply cannot go out like that!  
  
Tell me, Amalthea, Snape drawled, obviously irritated with Amalthea's insistence upon something, which made Harry hide a grin. At least Snape wouldn't be getting his way the whole time. Where you, in your constant perusal of the, here he injected a dry cough into his speech. Night sky, did you discover this rather stunning knowledge of Muggle fashion? Indeed, the last I was aware, you weren't even acquainted with the most basic of Muggle attitudes. Why Albus chose you to accompany on the mission, I'll never know. Except that the Headmaster does seem quite determined to make my life as difficult as possible, and operating with Potter in lieu of a-- shall we say competent?-- partner would do quite the trick.   
  
There's no need to be insulting, Severus, Amalthea's voice returned coldly, and Harry leaned forward, waiting for her to give it to Snape. Although I ought to know that's a rather integral part of your character, shouldn't I? Still, I should think that somewhere along the line, you would have learned courtesy to a professional colleague--  
  
I assure you, Professor Sinistra, that you have all my admiration and respect, Snape said coolly, sarcasm fairly coming off of the words in handfuls. Harry pursed his lips and shook his head. If that wasn't throwing the gauntlet down, he didn't know what was. Though, all things considered, this probably was Snape's idea of being polite. Stupid git, he reflected privately. Downstairs, he heard Amalthea sigh deeply.   
  
she said flatly, obviously relinquishing the fight while she was still able. If you are suffering under the misapprehension that I am pleased at all by this turn of events, let me enlighten you. Harry raised his eyebrows, impressed in spite of himself. On his privately named Snape Sarcasm Scale, Amalthea wasn't scoring badly at all. Downstairs, he heard Snape settle into an armchair as Amalthea continued.   
  
I don't enjoy social interaction any more than you do, I don't have any particular affection for either your presence or that of Harry's-- I don't dislike either of you, but we share no especial friendship. My summers are usually spent at the Astronomy retreats, and I was not at all pleased to hear I would have to give up my position on several research projects in order to play your spouse in the Muggle world because a group of agents aren't keeping in close enough contact with Hogwarts to please Albus. Her voice had gone frigid during the speech. I am not enjoying this anymore than you are, Severus, yet I have garnered the civility to be polite to you, and to form some kind of tentative friendship with Harry-- I have not spent every other moment complaining about basic facts. Could you _possibly_-- the last word infused with a great deal of withering sarcasm indeed-- endeavor to possibly act with a semblance of maturity?   
  
Snape, Harry noted with detached interest, had gone silent during Amalthea's tirade. Silent enough that for a few moments after she finished speaking, the common room was absolutely thick with silence. Then--  
  
Very well, he heard Snape say reluctantly. Harry's eyes widened. Was Snape agreeing? Deferring to somebody else? I concur.   
  
Well. Perhaps Voldemort could be defeated after all.   
  
Thank you, Amalthea replied, rather too cheerfully. Now, you cannot venture out into the Muggle world in those robes. And your hair has to go. Harry smiled slightly as he heard Snape clear his throat in shock.  
  
  
  
Not all of it, he heard Amalthea explain with patience that sounded considerably strained. Muggle men usually do not have long hair, Severus, and they certainly do not in the neighborhood where we will be living.   
  
That is no excuse--   
  
That is every excuse. We are making an attempt to not attract attention, rather than the opposite. That, by the by, is the reason that Harry is accompanying us, not because Albus feels a lack of confidence on my part.   
  
Snape replied, his voice turning surly once more. And I assume you wish to do something with it now? And do you know, perhaps, when Potter is going to grant us with his presence, or will we have to wait for the pint-sized celebrity to waltz down at tea?  
  
I'm sure he'll be down shortly, Amalthea said curtly. Harry took that as his cue to count thirty before descending. But that is irrelevant to the point.   
  
Which is. . .?  
  
Severus. You can't wear that, Amalthea said slowly and patiently. Don't you own any Muggle clothing?   
  
Why would I own any Muggle clothing?   
  
Harry entered the common room in time to see Amalthea settle herself in an armchair across from Snape, pinching the bridge of her nose and sighing.   
  
Um, hello, Harry offered, taking a third seat and watching Snape out of the corner of his eye. Snape jerked his head in Harry's direction and Amalthea smiled wanly at her lap.   
  
she said, waving a hand languidly at Snape. Talk to him. Please. Snape choked and Harry swallowed, hard.   
  
About what? Harry asked carefully. Amalthea obviously didn't know much about his relationship with Snape; namely, that Snape would rather drink a beaker of Skele Grow than listen to Harry tell him what to do. He didn't bother to look at Snape, able to summon the terse look of frustration his professor doubtlessly wore without seeing it.   
  
Amalthea said glumly, finally looking up at him. At which point she gave a little start of surprise, eyeing his shirt and admittedly baggy jeans. Are, uh, all your clothes that . . . oversized?   
  
They were my cousin's, Harry explained, shifting a little in his seat. Well, this was embarrassing. It was one thing to wear Dudley's hand-me-downs when it was just the Dursleys, but completely another to have to face Snape's sneer every day in them.   
  
Oh, well. Amalthea seemed to consider this. Would you mind loaning one to Severus? Snape gave a horrified cough. Amalthea shot him an irritated look. It looks as if they'd fit him-- is your cousin tall enough?   
  
Er, yeah, Harry said, mentally picturing Dudley and Snape side by side. The image was horrifying, to say the least. But Dudley had grown vertically as well as horizontally in the past years-- all that protein, Aunt Petunia had cooed, serving Dudley a steak and eggs while fixing Harry with a glare and Brussel Sprouts.   
  
Harry's hate of the vegetables, he reminded himself, was something that Snape definitely shouldn't be informed of.  
  
Eloquent, Potter, Snape sneered, something that earned him a sharp glance from Amalthea.   
  
Will you go outfit him in a shirt? That'll do until we go out. I'll ring for breakfast in the meantime. We'll have to get you some things, too, she murmured, casting a doubtful eye at his jeans.   
  
Harry said nervously. Up this way, Professor.   
  
Without bothering to see if Snape would follow, Harry trudged back up to his room. His mindset brightened considerably at the thought of giving Snape one of Dudley's uglier shirts. The bright orange, he decided, hiding an evil grin worthy of the Weasley twins as Snape swept into his room.   
  
Don't dawdle, Potter, Snape snapped, looking down his nose at the pile of Quidditch magazines under Harry's pillow. Don't imagine I take any joy from being in your illustrious presence.   
  
No, sir, Harry said innocently, handing over the shirt. It was a lovely shade of devastatingly brilliant orange, he decided. . . it went so well with the nauseated look that crossed Snape's face.  
  
Snape sputtered, holding out the garment as if it was dripping with a Love Potion. Harry smiled, mock-innocently, and backed towards the door.   
  
It's what Muggles wear, Professor, he said politely, and then exited the room at maximum velocity.   
  
On his way down the stairs, Harry felt a surge of unexpected delight. He'd have to ensure that Snape was . . . advised. . . into wearing the very _best _of Muggle fashions. Of course, he reminded himself sternly as he greeted Amalthea with a smile, he'd have to be discreet. His Potions professor might not be able to take points, but there were certainly other ways to make Harry's life miserable. After all, what could give Snape more pleasure than grounding him?   
  
Repeatedly?   



	2. London Holiday

A/N: I'm posting regularly! Wonderful me! I think I'm definitely sticking with the once a week method-- Fridays or Saturdays most likely, Sunday at the latest. This is a long chapter, so I hope it makes up for the once every seven days timing!  
  
At any rate, a million thanks and points of the houses of people who reviewed! 49 reviews. . . wow. Just. . . wow. I'm amazed.   
  
Lots of love and thanks to She's A Star, who betaed, and to Bohemian Storm, who listened to me rattle on about this story as I wrote it. Both of them write amazing stuff, so go-- yes, this is plugging-- they're in my favorites.   
  
And on with the story!   
  
Chapter Three: London Holiday  
  
Potter, stop slouching, Snape snapped irritably, drumming his fingers on the wall. The combination of the orange shirt and newly short hair that he sported was enough to inspire a lethal attitude-- and since Amalthea had effectively prohibited any attacks on her, Harry was now Snape's sole target.   
  
Not that Harry minded. They were waiting outside the back room of Debenhams, where Amalthea was having a quick word with the attendant who'd helped them portkey in. Despite himself, he felt a little tingle of excitement at the idea of shopping. It was pretty ridiculous, he reflected with a private grin, but there you were. Snape, on the other hand, demonstrated all the excitement that one might expect out of Neville in Potions class, and a deadly aura besides.   
  
What did I say about slouching? Conduct yourself properly, Snape hissed, raising a hand to his hair. Harry narrowed his eyes as Snape scratched at a spot behind his ears. Was it his imagination, or had Amalthea charmed the hair a bit too short?   
  
Severus, leave him alone, Amalthea said briskly, coming out and interrupting Harry's thoughts with her presence. Now. Let's run over this one more time. We are-- She turned to Harry, smoothing down her absurdly dowdy skirt as she did so. Harry, you first.  
  
The Bayleys, Harry responded obediently, eerily reminded of arrangements with the Dursleys. I'm Harry Bayley, fifteen years old, and I've been living abroad with the two of you. I like reading, soccer, and basketball. My dad's name is, Harry bit back a wince at saying the next. He wouldn't give Snape the satisfaction. Severus Bayley, and he's a researcher in chemistry. My mum's name is Amalthea Bayley, and she's a freelance writer. I was named Harry solely to avoid the tradition of absurd names in my family. Anytime I get questioned about background, I just yawn and rattle off some questions about sports.   
  
Snape snorted faintly, and Amalthea nodded, a small smile playing around her lips.   
  
she said, pleased by how smoothly this seemed to be going. My name is Amalthea Bayley, formerly Amalthea Waterhouse. I write freelance articles, mostly for American magazines. I enjoy reading, astronomy-- what, Severus, we need to be convincing, don't look at me like that-- I have one son, no siblings, and my parents live in Greece.   
  
A long silence followed her careful recitation, and eventually Amalthea spun around to face Snape. She folded her arms, her lips tightening as she did so. Snape raised an eyebrow. She tapped her foot a bit, but Snape merely stared back at her. Finally, she sighed.  
  
Severus, do you intend to say anything?  
  
Snape asked, eyebrow again arching as he spoke. Is that what you were waiting for?   
  
Amalthea sputtered, but Snape waved a hand at her, sneering lightly at the entire operation.  
  
My name is Severus Bayley-- my mother is French, hence my unusual name. Not that it's any of your business, sir. I am a chemist. I write primarily for scholarly journals. I do not wish to discuss my professional life. I am married to an unsociable academic, and we are cursed with an idiot boy for a son. Any other information is not of your concern.   
  
Amalthea and Harry exchanged very long looks, and Harry could see her silently counting to ten before she spoke again. Harry, meanwhile, was busy picturing horrendous Muggle fashions to inflict on Snape. He'd gotten to striped ties and polka dotted shirts in combination when Amalthea spoke again.  
  
Sounds fine, she said curtly, and stalked towards the clothing department. Harry, find Sev-- your father some things and we'll meet by the changing rooms.   
  
Yes, Mum, Harry called after her, the words feeling strange and foreign on his tongue. He watched her disappear from sight, then turned to Snape. Well, I guess we're stuck together. Snape sniffed disdainfully.  
  
Excellent conclusion, Potter.   
  
My name is Harry, Harry said grumpily. If I have to refer to you as my father, you have to suffer through using my name.   
  
Snape's eyes flashed, and for a moment Harry thought the man was choking until he realized it was a very rusty chuckle.   
  
Coming from Snape.  
  
This was officially bizarre.   
  
Very well, Snape said grudgingly, a crooked little smile fighting to remain on his face. The Headmaster has something in mind for this, I've no doubt. He shook his head and glanced over at a pile of light cotton jumpers. They came in two shades-- bright magenta and a fuzzy green. No doubt. Very well.   
  
Forty minutes later, Harry wasn't feeling nearly as enthusiastic about the idea of getting to pick out Snape's clothes. The man was damn near compulsive about what he wore, and it had taken nearly fifteen minutes to convince Snape that he would have to spend time outdoors, and therefore could not wear black turtlenecks for the length of their stay. Snape had scorched the Bermuda shorts with one brief glare, and Harry was reduced to unearthing shirts so that Snape could examine the stitching on each.   
  
You're enjoying this, aren't you? Harry hissed as he discarded another dark brown shirt in the rapidly growing pile beside him. Look, they're all the same. Just pick one. You have two shirts. Two. And we've been here for forty-- forty-five minutes, he amended, glancing at his watch. I thought you hated shopping.   
  
I refuse to purchase shirts of poor quality, Snape said, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. You may waste pounders--  
  
Harry corrected automatically,   
  
Kindly do not interrupt me, Harry. You may choose what you will, but I will not be saddled down with inferior clothing because of your impatience. Small wonder you are so terrible at Potions-- chemistry. The Potions of. . . Snape trailed off and shot a passing customer a poisonous glare. The elderly lady squeaked faintly, and hurried on.   
  
Thanks, _Dad,_ Harry grumbled, holding up a dark blue shirt for examination. He tried to keep the snarl off his face-- he didn't want to emphasize the relationship to Snape anymore than he had to. You know, my failure at chemistry must be genetic.   
  
  
  
Just a Mug-- an expression, Harry said innocently. I mean, we're not doing so badly. We already have two shirts. In the shades of-- oh, look. That's amazing. Black and black.   
  
Ten points-- a pause. Snape was visibly striving not to murder someone. Harry smirked inwardly at the sight. Snape controlling his temper-- or trying to. . . life was wonderful. Go speak with your mother, he hissed, poking a long finger at a navy blue shirt in emphasis.   
  
Yes, _Father, _Harry said blithely, all but skipping off towards the women's department. Maybe Amalthea would have enough compassion not to send him back immediately.  
  
Amalthea hissed as soon as she caught sight of him. She looked worried and frantic, and he noticed that the hem of her brown skirt seemed to be falling down rather raggedly You've got to help me!   
  
Harry asked, puzzled. She'd seemed so in control this morning, dealing neatly with Snape and confidently strolling around the department store. And your skirt's a bit off, just so you know.  
  
Oh, I know, Amalthea sighed and collapsed back onto a nearby chair. I know there's this thing called sawing, but I thought that Spellotape would be just as efficient. I really don't understand this, she said glumly, pushing her glasses up as she spoke. Why would you cut clothing to repair it?   
  
It's called sewing, actually, Harry said cautiously.   
  
Oh-- really? But-- you see-- here Amalthea whipped out a Vogue and flipped it open to a page. Harry blinked rapidly. Freakishly tall and thin woman wore -- he supposed they were dresses. Albus gave me this for fashion tips, but I don't see anything like these clothes here. And I-- well-- she blushed deeply at the next. I don't really have the, er. . . appearance to carry off-- well, these robes.   
  
You don't have to, Harry reassured her, sliding into a nearby chair. This stuff is really high fashion, and nobody will wear it where we are. Amalthea looked visibly relieved at this.  
  
I did think the feathers were a bit much, she said, toying with a loose curl. The humidity of the summer afternoon had gone to her hair, and what had been a semi-neat attempt at a chignon had frizzed out to a mop of wayward ringlets. Amalthea caught his gaze and put a hand to her hair, laughing softly.   
  
We're a family with hair problems, evidently, she said in response to his puzzled look. Yours goes every which way, mine frizzes from here to the stars, and Severus. . . well. She toyed absently with her limp cotton blouse. That reminds me-- I don't suppose you know of any Muggle cosmetics?   
  
For what? Harry asked, puzzled. My scar?  
  
Well, that, and. . . .  
  
Harry wrinkled his forehead, puzzled. She really was acting oddly. Amalthea looked furtively from side to side, gestured him closer, then whispered into his ear.   
  
Severus' hair.   
  
Harry immediately burst into loud, rather hysterical laughter.   
  
Amalthea hissed, sinking down into her seat. That's not funny! What if he heard?  
  
I'm sorry-- Harry managed between gasps of laughter. He held his sides firmly, trying to hold back the extreme case of the giggles he was in for. It's just that-- I don't know-- I thought you were going to say something really important--  
  
That is important, Amalthea said huffily, searching for something in her purse. We are feigning marriage, and we will have to have-- the pained distaste made another appearance in her voice-- _some _physical contact, and-- She glared at him. Stop that, or I'll send you back to Sev-- your father, she amended, obviously remembering where she was.   
  
Harry said contritely, banishing his smile. He'd probably kill himself if he had to kiss Snape-- Amalthea was handling it quite well, all things considered. Want me to help you find some clothes? he offered.   
  
Amalthea blinked, looking oddly lost behind her thick spectacles. You wouldn't mind? she asked cautiously.   
  
Harry said, realizing that he meant it. He smiled a little at Amalthea. I wouldn't.   
  
Harry, I can't wear this! came a wail from behind the changing room door.   
  
Why not? Harry asked, surreptitiously admiring his new jeans and top in the mirror. Amalthea had insisted on picking out some things for him before they started looking for her. It was stupid to stare at himself like Lockhart, he knew, but somehow he couldn't get over having things that fit him properly. You looked fine in all the other things we picked out.   
  
Grey corduroys, fine, Amalthea said huffily. I concede that I can wear trousers. And you know I liked the yellow and blue rugby shirt you insisted upon. But, Harry, I don't look right in things like these.  
  
You made _me _get formal clothes, Harry pointed out sensibly.  
  
I am perfectly willing to purchase that black suit for myself. But this-- Harry-- the tone of her voice changed, and he suddenly knew how Ron felt when Mrs. Weasley turned on him. You didn't try on those formal clothes, did you?   
  
Harry groaned, having finally accustomed himself to using the term. I don't need a dress shirt and tie.  
  
Yes, you do. What if we're invited to a party?   
  
I don't want a dress shirt and tie, Harry grumbled, already heading to the men's dressing room. They'd encountered Snape a few times while wandering around the store, but he'd just sneered at them and continued glaring at the Muggle clothes. Are you going to come out? he called back to Amalthea.   
  
Yes. No. Maybe. He heard her sigh. Go try on your clothes, please, and I'll come out.   
  
It took an additional five minutes after he'd changed to persuade Amalthea to leave the dressing room.   
  
she'd said grudgingly as the door swung open. But don't laugh.   
  
I won't laugh, Harry promised as she edged out into the light. She flushed, and stood with her head down.   
  
she said, shrugging a little and self-consciously smoothing the fabric down.   
  
Oh, that's lovely, ma'am, a passing clerk said, something that brought a hint of a smile to Amalthea.   
  
You do look really nice, Harry said honestly. He'd talked Amalthea into a pale lavender dress-- a colour he'd seen on his own mother in the photograph album Hagrid had given him after his first year. The hem was about calf-length and ruffled-- something that had perturbed Amalthea until he'd reassured her that it was supposed to be uneven.   
  
I do? Amalthea looked pathetically hopeful.   
  
You do, Harry nodded. You could get any guy you wanted wearing that.   
  
Amalthea blushed and poked him in the side.  
  
Stop that, you silly boy, she said playfully, putting a hand to her hair. I suppose I do look all right.   
  
Even Dad, Harry continued, smirking at her. I bet you'd knock his socks off.   
  
The only thing that knocks his socks off, Amalthea said dryly. Is a properly brewed Deflating Draught. Harry stuck his tongue out at her.   
  
Fine. You knocked my socks off.   
  
You're a bit young for me, she teased, patting his head. Besides, you can't dance. I always dreamed of marrying a man who could tango.  
  
I can so tango! Harry said, pulling himself up. Some part of his mind was regarding the scene before him with astonishment, but the rest of him just went with it. He was reminded suddenly of the time he and Sirius had spent an afternoon playing tag in Hogsmeade-- Sirius in his dog form, of course-- before they'd had to return to Hogwarts.   
  
Amalthea smirked at him, and Harry was drawn back to the present. He wondered if Sirus and Amalthea would like each other. She was a little shyer than Sirius could probably handle, but, maybe. . . she was awfully nice and energetic when she was comfortable around somebody.   
  
Prove it.  
  
Harry said, quickly pulling her into a bizarre, clomping tango. They got a few steps past the changing rooms until Amalthea began shrieking with laughter, eventually ending up pushing him back into the chair as she tickled his sides.  
  
Harry scrambled back and stuck his tongue out at her. I'm ticklish!  
  
That's the point, Amalthea shot back, tossing her purse lightly at him. You ridiculous human being.   
  
Am not.  
  
Are too.  
  
Am not.  
  
Are too.   
  
Am not.  
  
At least I don't whine about wearing a tie.  
  
But you do about wearing a dress.   
  
It was while they continued bantering that Harry became aware of Snape's presence behind Amalthea, a little off to the side. He felt a peculiar touch of wonder-- Snape, for once, didn't seem to be glaring. He was staring, rather oddly, at Amalthea. A look, that if seen on anybody else's face, Harry would have termed a little bit sad and a just a little bit longing. But it was, after all, Snape. Probably just some new glare he'd come up with.   
  
At any rate, Snape quickly shook off the look and glided into the area. The playful conversation between Amalthea and Harry quickly halted, and Harry could see Amalthea nervously withdraw into herself again. Snape raised an eyebrow.  
  
Are you quite done, then?   
  
Amalthea said immediately, rising and heading for the changing room. I'll meet you two outside the . . . place where you purchase these.   
  
Harry said, edging towards the men's rooms. I'll be right back, too.   
  
Snape nodded curtly, and Harry decided that he'd definitely imagined the sadness in his expression.   
  
Things at the checkout line went smoothly enough, with Snape staring down his hooked nose at the cashier in an effort to make the man move faster. Whether it was the glare or not, they went through pretty quickly until Amalthea handed over a credit card and the clerk handed it back after running it through the machine. Amalthea's eyes went comically wide.  
  
I get to keep it?  
  
Uh, Mum? Harry muttered, taking hold of her elbow.   
  
Yes, ma'am, the clerk said politely.   
  
Harry said in response to Snape's scathing glance that said quite clearly-- do _something, _Potter, or you're dead. We've been abroad.   
  
the clerk inclined his head, a smile now hiding behind his solicitous expression. I do hear that they have disposable cards in America.   
  
You're not funny, Snape snapped. The cashier went pale and quailed under the look Snape shot him. Harry could hardly blame the man.   
  
Of course not, sir.   
  
Snape and Amalthea were still arguing when they got to Boots, and Harry rolled his eyes as they launched into yet another facet of the fight. They were here to buy shampoo and makeup for his scar, not to maintain the world's longest argument.   
  
The fact is, Amalthea, is that you couldn't be bothered--  
  
You didn't know either, Severus!  
  
Can we please discuss this later? Harry finally broke in, annoyed past the point of endurance. He picked up a bottle of shampoo and set it down with more force than necessary.   
  
What's the matter, Pott-- Harry? Snape arched an eyebrow. Can't bear to hear a bit of disagreement?   
  
A bit, yes. But when you start repeating yourself, that's enough, Harry growled back, throwing a tube of concealor into the basket Amalthea carried.   
  
Temper, temper, Snape shot back, examining the ingredients and curling his lip. Do you really mean to apply this to your skin?   
  
No, I mean to eat it, Harry snapped back, turning to examine a line of shampoos.   
  
One can never tell with you, can they?  
  
Stop that, you two, Amalthea said wearily. She plucked a bottle of shampoo off the shelf.   
  
Really, Amalthea, your maternal concern astonishes me.  
  
This is for you two, Harry said abruptly, having found what he was looking for. He handed the bottle back to Amalthea, who immediately choked and had to turn away to study to study conditioner.  
  
Boots Mediterranean Shampoo: Normal Greasy Hair, Snape read out suspiciously. Suspiciously formulated for normal greasy hair. He stared Harry down for a long moment, and Harry fidgeted. Snape obviously knew that Harry had meant something by that purchase, but couldn't quite fathom it-- it was, after all, completely unfathomable that Snape's hair might be greasy. The staredown continued until Amalthea regained control of her voice and spoke again.  
  
Oh, look! she said, a hint of laughter bubbling under her words. Waterproof mascara. For wearing in the swimming pool. That was something I caught in Vogue-- apparently swimming is a very popular pastime. You did remember to get swimming materials, didn't you?   
  
Er, no, Harry admitted, backing away from Snape's doubtful gaze.   
  
  
  
Why would I need that?  
  
Amalthea said, finally deciding to ignore Snape's questions. She lowered her voice and turned to Harry. Harry, could you portkey over to Debenhams and pick up swimming clothes for you and Severus? We only have a few more things to pick up here. She handed him the box that held the portkey and the credit card.   
  
Erm, sure, Harry said quickly, sliding behind a display and looking both ways for any unwary Muggles. He was about to pull the portkey out when he was caught in a landslide of plastic bottles. Sputtering, he rubbed his hand against his head-- those bottles were heavy! When he caught sight of a satisfied, twisted little smile on Snape's face, his sixth sense flared up. That wasn't his wand Snape was tucking away into the bag he carried, was it? Amalthea hadn't noticed anything, though, and Harry only glared for a moment before touching the portkey.   
  
To Debenhams, then, and the last thing he felt like was buying Snape swimming gear. The man could go starkers for all he cared.   
  
Although that was probably illegal.   
  
Socks. Red ties. Speedos, Harry murmured absently, passing by the display on his way back to the men's department. Black swim trunks for Snape-- not that Snape would know anything about swimming, he thought absently, rolling his eyes.   
  
Thirty seconds later, he was back in front of the display. Wait a minute. Speedos.  
  
Leopard print speedos.  
  
On sale.   
  
Oh, revenge was sweet.   



	3. A Change of Plans

Title: Family Matters  
Author: drama-princess  
Pairing(s): Hints of Snape/Sinistra and Harry/Ginny, mentions of Ron/Hermione  
Rating: PG to PG-13, most likely. PG for the moment.  
Disclaimer: Major characters and basic premises belong to J.K. Rowling and are used without permission, but with plenty of love and respect. No money is being made off of this, which is really quite a pity, as I could use some. All other characters and content of the story-- and Amalthea Sinistra's first name-- belongs to me.   
Notes: This story is dedicated to my lovely beta, She's A Star, whose stuff I highly recommend and can be found in my favorites list. . . after you read this, of course. ;) Without her help, this would be just another plot bunny hopping round. And we all know how terrible that would be. Reviews are greatly appreciated, constructive criticism welcome.   
Amalthea, incidentally, in a bit of mindless trivia, means to soothe, to soften and was, in mythology, the goat that nursed Zeus.   
Summary: Harry, Snape, and Sinistra must pose as a Muggle family over the summer holidays-- and in doing so, don't only discover a web of intrigue in the Order of Phoenix, but something about themselves as well.  
  
~-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------~  
  
Chapter One: A Change of Plans  
  
Just for once, Harry Potter reflected to himself, he'd like to finish up a term outside the hospital wing.   
  
It was a rather cheery place, he owned, glancing around at Madam Pomfrey's freshly painted walls and bright curtains, but the circumstances that brought him there weren't among his favorite. To say the least, he thought wryly. His fifth year had started out in a decent fashion, spending the last two weeks with the Weasleys. And between Weasley's Wizard Wheezes finally snatching a reluctant approval from Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Weasley setting up a food-only Floo system for his extraordinary office hours, there was never any lack of activity to keep his mind off of the previous year. Luckily the school seemed to have been caught up in the same philosophy-- one moment the entire Order of Phoenix Apparated in for another meeting, the next Dumbledore was happily leading the school out for a picnic-- and so his fifth year passed well enough.   
  
Until the hour after he completed his O.W.L.'s, that was. Harry supposed he ought to write Voldemort a thank-you note for waiting for his Potions final to finish to attack-- but somehow, he couldn't muster the energy. Sighing, he tried to shift the unfortunate pile of chocolate (most of which, he realized, came from Ginny Weasley in an effort to vary the flavours) The thought brought a smile to his face. With Ron and Hermione trying an on-again, off-again relationship, he'd have felt a bit left out if he hadn't had Ginny to study with.   
  
Not that he fancied her or anything like that.   
  
Sighing, he flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. He'd been here a week and a half, and as much fun as conversing with a water spot could be, it lost a lot of allure after a _very _short while. And being left alone with his thoughts meant just that-- his memories of the last battle having free reign.   
  
_And, Harry Potter, we come face to face again. . .surely you didn't think that Dumbledore could keep you safe forever?  
  
_Ugh. He really didn't want to call Madam Pomfrey for a Dreamless Sleep potion. He'd slept too much lately, and he'd just wake up feeling more restless than ever.   
  
_The same high, cold voice--  
  
_Maybe he'd draft another plea to Dumbledore to let him stay with the Weasleys for the summer. He'd finally talked Fred and George into letting him slip a few extra Galleons into the family jar when he stayed with them-- and he couldn't face going back to the Dursleys, not this year.   
  
_Such concern over a filthy Muggle?  
  
_He couldn't wait to play Quidditch again, maybe he'd even have a shot at captain next year. Angelina had been a great leader this year, but she was graduating, and maybe it wasn't just his imagination that she'd been grooming him to take over her position. Or, even better, if Sirius was at Hogwarts for a brief rest in between assignments, he'd be able to see Harry play.   
  
The thought made Harry grin briefly, and temporarily dispelled any other ideas. He finally took hold of the bell next to his bed-- he'd beg Madam Pomfrey for a brief walk outside, a short visit (and some illicit snacks-- he was _very _tired of broth and chocolate) from Dobby, or a few more minutes with Ron and Hermione when they were allowed to come into the infirmary.   
  
Before he could summon up his most pleading expression, Professor Dumbledore entered with an enormous bar of (Harry forced back his disgusted expression at the sight) Honeydukes chocolate in his hands.   
  
Hello, Professor, he offered meekly, hoping against hope that the chocolate wasn't for him. He remembered, vaguely, that just a week and a half ago, he'd loved the sweet-- and he'd probably love it again as soon as he was suffering under Dudley's diet-- but this was really too much.   
  
Ah, Harry. Much to Harry's relief, Dumbledore set the bar next to Madam Pomfrey's knitting needles. He settled himself down next to Harry's bedside table and studied Harry over his half-moon glasses. And how are you feeling today?  
  
Much better, thanks-- some chocolate, Professor? Harry asked, mentally crossing his fingers. If he could convince Dumbledore to start in on the pile, that'd be that much less he had to choke down under Madam Pomfrey's gaze.   
  
Why, yes, thank you, Dumbledore plucked a box of Chocolate Frogs from the table and opened one up. The old twinkle was back in Dumbledore's eyes, and Harry relaxed back into his bolster of pillows. He missed the perennially cheerful Dumbledore he remembered from his earlier years at Hogwarts, and seeing a glimpse of him convinced Harry that all would be well, after all. I imagine Honeydukes does as well.   
  
Harry smiled, almost involuntarily. Hermione had complained yesterday that she never saw him smile anymore, and hadn't, not for ages. She'd certainly be pleased to see him acting happy and cheerful-- and _normal_,' as Ron had put it. Well, if Dumbledore was in a good mood, perhaps Harry would have reason to be as well.   
  
Did you get my note about the Weasleys, Professor Dumbledore? he asked tentatively. He noted anxiously that although the twinkle didn't fade entirely, it did dim a bit. Mrs. Weasley wrote and said she'd be delighted to have me, and it'd be fantastic if I could go, would it really put everyone in such danger? This, he thought with chagrin, he said very quickly and rather guiltily, as if he knew that Dumbledore was going to give him a negative reply, and was asking in spite of it. Nice indicator of confidence there, Potter, he thought grimly.   
  
Dumbledore began, tapping his fingers together and studying him over them. That happens to be precisely the topic of conversation I wished to bring up, Harry. Harry felt himself tense up, his stomach fluttering in a way that would have sent Madam Pomfrey into convulsions.   
  
I did receive your note, Dumbledore said gently, and your reluctance to go home for the summer is well understood, Harry. Harry nodded quickly, biting the inside of his cheek in an effort to hide his anxiety. But, Harry, I am afraid that it is not possible for you to spend the summer with the Weasleys. He held up a hand, forestalling any reply Harry might have mad. It is simply too dangerous, for both you and the Weasleys-- you are both targets as it is, and the Ministry simply cannot afford to provide the amount of protection that such a gathering would require. Harry swallowed, hard. He'd taken his danger as a matter of course, but he'd-- stupidly-- never thought that his friends would be targets as well.   
  
he said softly. That was--   
  
_Stupid, selfish, Potter, stupid.   
  
_A thought that I wish you did not have to deal with, Dumbledore cut in sternly. And one that I would prefer that you did not spend time worrying over. They have protection, Harry, as much as we can provide. You must take care of yourself. Harry flushed slightly and nodded.   
  
Yes, Professor, he said softly, drumming his fingers on the bar next to his bed. His stomach seemed to be sinking more by the minute. Back to the Dursleys, then, and three months of fretting over Sirius and his friends, not knowing if he was getting all his owls, not knowing if he would even be able to go back--  
  
Dumbledore's voice interrupted his gloomy thoughts, and Harry looked up hopefully. Could he stay at Hogwarts? He grinned to himself, thinking of a whole summer spent with his books and broomsticks (maybe Hermione's efforts were paying off, after all, if books immediately sprang to mind as a benefit. She'd be pleased) I would like to offer you an option of a different sort.   
  
Harry nodded obediently, inwardly beaming with happiness. His mind was overflowing with potential-- stay at Hogwarts, perhaps, or even settle with Sirus for a few months. Anywhere but the Dursleys. Dumbledore cleared his throat, and a little of Harry's anticipation tinged with anxiety as he caught the reluctance to speak.   
  
Well, Harry, I want to tell you that this would be ensure your protection, and would serve the Order in ways that-- yes, well. Er--  
  
The door the the infirmary opened, and both Harry and Dumbledore turned to see Professor Sinistra edge into the room, her face slightly pink with the exertion from running. His eyes widened, puzzled by the interruption.   
  
she said, breathing heavily and fanning herself. I'm sorry, Albus-- I completely lost track of the time-- I was reading this Muggle magazine-- oh, you've not said anything yet-- and goodness, you wouldn't believe how strange some of their robes are--  
  
Hello, Amalthea, Dumbledore said warmly, rising to bring over a chair for the Astronomy Professor. Please, don't concern yourself-- I've seen nothing of Severus all morning.   
  
Harry's eyebrows shot up at the mention of his least favorite professor--alarm bells beginning to clang in his head. As much as he did not want to go to Privet Drive for the holidays, the idea of spending summer under the sneer of Professor Severus Snape was definitely. Not. Appealing. Then again, it was highly unlikely that Snape would be willing to let Harry within a hundred feet of his free time if he had _any _say in the matter.   
  
Professor Sinistra snorted softly under her breath at the mention of Snape, and Harry turned his head to study her. He was mildly surprised to find that he'd never really done so before-- you'd think five years of Astronomy would pretty much clue you in as far as appearance and personality went, but it was hard to get the gist of anybody when the only time you saw them was at midnight. Besides which, Sinistra rarely descended from her quarters in the Astronomy tower (much to the disappointment of students seeking to tryst at the top of Hogwarts). He knew that Hermione had had a few chats with her after class at midnight, but he and Ron had always been more interested in getting to bed, so he'd never had a chance to even attempt small talk with her.   
  
Professor-- Amalthea?-- Sinistra was a slightly dowdy woman in her thirties, who might have been pretty once, and retained a little of her former beauty in her tired face. Her auburn hair curled above her shoulders, wrestled back into an unflattering style that would have boosted Hermione's ego. But the dark eyes that peered from behind thick spectacles were kind and bright, and, Harry noticed with a start, were smiling at him. Sinistra had always struck him as being a bit unfriendly-- well, he amended privately, sort of overly academic-- a Hermione without the amiability.   
  
Not that he'd ever spared much thought on her, to be honest. She didn't give too much homework, graded easily enough, rarely took points off or gave them out, and took meals in her tower. In Harry's book, the only thing you could do to be more unnoticed was to go round with an Invisibility Cloak on.   
  
Hello, Harry, she said, extending a small hand to him and shaking his hand with surprising firmness. Nice to see you in daylight. Her mouth twitched, and he caught a glimpse of repressed mischief lingering behind the facade of reserve.   
  
Harry replied, instinctively warming to this new side of his professor. She _definitely_ reminded him of Hermione, he reflected, but that beam in her eyes was reminiscent of Mrs. Weasley, of all people. Her gaze flicked to Dumbledore, and he thought, for a moment, she even looked like the photographs of his own mother-- smart, cheerful, and in control.   
  
So, Albus, have you explained things yet? she asked, briskly rubbing her hands together and looking doubtfully down at his pile of chocolate. She sent Harry a sympathetic glance and he stifled a laugh-- plainly Professor Sinistra was acquainted with the phenomenon of too much chocolate. Her lip curled slightly. Or are you waiting for Severus to sweep in with one of his disgusting concoctions-- the only decent use of which, I might add, would be to put himself out of his own misery?   
  
It was, perhaps, a very good thing that Harry had just lifted a handkerchief to his face to sneeze-- it muffled his snort of laughter. Professor Sinistra, at any rate, was the recipient of Dumbledore's warning frown, but she seemed oblivious. Harry grinned to himself behind the refuge of his handkerchief. It was always nice to know you weren't alone in loathing Snape.   
  
Dumbledore said slowly. Harry, let me begin by explaining something. He glanced up at Professor Sinistra, who merely shrugged at him. We've become concerned, recently, with a few of our agents based in a Muggle neighborhood. He hesitated briefly, long enough for Harry to start worrying. We don't suspect their loyalties in the slightest-- I want to make this clear right now. But we are worried about their tendency to disappear for long periods of time, and we'd like to put a--  
  
Low profile team in a high security location, Professor Sinistra put in dryly. She grinned mischievously at Harry, her eyes sparkling at him. Harry grinned back, and noticed that the little bit of prettiness she had really came out when she smiled. I read that in a Muggle novel. Been doing a bit of research, and I must admit it's rather fun.   
  
Harry asked, now definitely puzzled. Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak, but Professor Sinistra beat him to it.   
  
We're going to go pose as a Muggle family, and we'd like to know if you'd come along.   
  
Harry asked, taken back by the offer. For one thing, members of the wizarding world definitely did not do well among Muggles, and secondly, this sounded like the sort of thing that he was definitely Not Welcome in. Too dangerous for the Boy Who Lived. Why me?   
  
Several reasons, Harry, Dumbledore said, popping another bit of chocolate into his mouth and smiling at him. With two fully qualified Defense wizards and the additional comfort of living incognito, you'd be both protected and anonymous-- something, Dumbledore added, the corner of his mouth twitching. I imagine you might enjoy.   
  
And secondly, Sinistra added. We don't want to attract any attention-- from either the neighbors or those we're watching. A childless couple in their mid-thirties-- in this area, at least-- would attract a lot more attention than a a couple with their teenage son. Add into which that despite my brief introduction to the Muggle world through Albus's, she smirked a little at Dumbledore. Exemplary reading list, we'll be making a lot of mistakes. You've lived with Muggles for extended periods of time-- and-- more importantly, you've seen some kind of family dynamic.   
  
It took all of Harry's self-possession not to roll his eyes at that. Family dynamic? A screeching mother, a selfish father, and a spoiled son-- but to be fair, the Dursleys were the most . . . Muggleish, for lack of a better word, of all Muggles. Almost reluctantly, he nodded.   
  
That's true.   
  
From what I've garnered from my research, Sinistra continued, Muggle teenage boys don't spend their holidays doing much of anything-- and it wouldn't be necessary for you to work with a family' of our standing. So you'd just spend the summer being. . . here she shrugged a little. Whatever Muggle boys do. She pondered for this for a minute. Muggle. . . things, she said weakly.   
  
Harry bit his lower lip to keep from laughing. The ignorance of the wizarding world about some Muggle practices really were quite funny, and it was absolutely hilarious to see an obviously otherwise intelligent witch grasping for a statement. But this was no raw deal they were offering him, as the more serious aspect of his mind put in. Spend the summer with Professor Sinistra and her husband, he guessed, pretend to be their kid, and maybe actually get a chance to play on a computer or ride a bike without Dudley descending upon him.   
  
Should I give you leave to think about this, Harry, or do you feel well-enough informed to make a decision now? Dumbledore asked after a decent interval.   
  
Harry said, his mind furiously racing. No Dursleys, no fear of discovery, no slimy potions professors lurking around the bend-- visiting the Weasleys aside, this was the best thing that could have happened to his summer. Um, sure, he said cheerfully. Sounds great.   
  
Dumbledore exclaimed, standing up and brushing the crumbs off of his robe. Then I'll leave you two to get acquainted. I assume you'll leave as soon as Harry's fully recovered, Amalthea?   
  
Professor Sinistra nodded, and shook Dumbledore's hand with the beginnings of a smile lurking about her mouth.   
  
Goodbye, then, Harry. Dumbledore smiled at him brightly. Madam Pomfrey thinks you will be well enough to attend the end-of-term feast, so I hope I to see you there.   
  
Goodbye, Professor! Harry called after him. He turned to see Professor Sinistra still sitting by his bed, a strange look having crossed her face. Er. . . Professor Sinistra?  
  
Her head turned quickly to study him, and he was struck by the soft loneliness in her eyes. It was peculiar-- like seeing a reflection of his younger self, he thought. He racked his memory, trying to think of sometime he'd seen his new in a social setting. She had to be married, though, so he guessed that accounted for the lack of sociability. Did her husband live in Hogsmeade?   
  
she said in return, nervously fumbling for her spectacles. She looked up at him and smiled wryly. These always get filthy. . . all the dusty books I pour over, I suppose. Harry grinned back.   
  
Yeah, same here, he said quickly. He pulled them off and held the lenses up to the filtered sunlight of the infirmary. Only I don't think it's books, for my part. For a moment, it looked as if Sinistra was smothering genuine amusement, but the smile vanished as the professional persona swept over her again.   
  
You don't do badly in Astronomy, though, she said seriously, eyeing him sternly. She paused, then tapped her wand against the frame of her spectacles.   
  
_Occulus Abstergeo!_   
  
Harry watched as the smears of dust and grime vanished, and felt a little impressed in spite of himself. He'd never really had trouble with charms, but at the same time, he didn't have the ability to go doing everything with them. Professor Sinistra settled the glasses on her nose-- a little crookedly, he noticed with a small grin-- and raised her left eyebrow.   
  
Know it? she asked, seemingly offhandedly, but he saw her observing him closely through those thick spectacles. Summing him up? Harry shrugged a little.  
  
I used to, but I can never seem to remember it. I usually just wipe them down on my robe, he admitted.   
  
Professor Sinsitra seemed to consider this for a minute, then took his spectacles from him. she said, resting her wand on the tip of them. This ought to help, she said a bit shyly, repeating the same charm. Keeps them clean for at least a week.   
  
Thanks, Professor, Harry said, snagging them back and restoring clarity to the world. Sinistra's mouth twitched, and she fingered a bit of her robe before speaking again.   
  
You may call me Amalthea, if you like. I suppose you'll have to call me Mother or something when we're in company, but it does feel a bit silly to have you call me Professor.   
  
All right, Harry agreed, idly wondering what it would be like to have to call two completely unrelated people by names he hadn't used for. . . well, for his whole life, he guessed. Strangely, it didn't bother him to think of calling Sinist-- Amalthea-- Mum.   
  
So what's your husband's name? he asked, swinging a bit of candyfloss by his fingertips. Calling a complete stranger Dad, on the other hand-- well, he just hoped her husband was a nice guy.   
  
My husband? Amalthea asked, her eyebrows shooting up in puzzlement. Oh, no, Harry-- she actually blushed a little, something that he'd never have thought her capable of. I thought you understood--   
  
Harry echoed.   
  
Just then, Severus Snape swept into the infirmary, a malicious sneer firmly planted on his face. Harry watched in horror as Snape drew close to the bed, folded his arms, and proceeded to glare at both him and Amalthea.   
  
Amalthea said, gesturing powerlessly at him. Harry has . . . she tried to smile, but it wavered in and out of existence. She obviously felt bad for his misunderstanding, but just as much did not wish to lose face in front of Snape. It was a feeling he had definite empathy with, but not really enough to spend his entire holiday with the greasy git. Agreed to come, she finished faintly.   
  
Snape's lips thinned and he glared coldly at Harry. Amalthea had lost any ability to articulate, and Harry was frantically trying to find a way to refuse this insane trip without making himself and Amalthea (who he had developed an unfortunate fondness for in the past ten minutes) look like complete idiots.   
  
Well, what excellent news, Snape said silkily. He scowled about the hospital wing, obviously looking for something to hex in lieu of Harry. Since it looked like he was rather _stuck _in this situation, Harry hoped fervently that Snape was under strict orders from Dumbledore to return Harry in single piece-- preferably a sane one. Not finding anything to take his anger out on, Snape stalked to the window. he repeated. he snapped brusquely. Just how prepared are we?   
  
We, uh, Harry could see Amalthea scrambling for her wits, and when she glanced frantically at him, he mouthed shopping' at her. Practical application was clearly not her forte. Need to get some things. At the Muggle shops. In, er-- she looked helplessly at him again.  
  
Harry hissed, thankful that Snape's attention was focused on the view outside.   
  
  
  
Snape said curtly, turning to face them both. Will my attendance be necessary? His expression suggested that he was prepared to endure such an ordeal, but only out of his most sacrificial bend of character. Harry tried to imagine his Potions professor in a Muggle suit and failed utterly. He couldn't fathom a Snape outside of those sweeping black robes. And, if they were venturing into the Muggle world, Snape might actually have to wash his hair, Merlin forbid.   
  
The thought was tempting, but the idea of Snape's company on a trip to the shops was certainly not. Harry began to shake his head, but Amalthea beat him to it, probably to prove to Snape that she was still capable of functioning in his presence. He suspected that she was that unfortunate sort of person. In lieu of demonstrating actual competence, she would expend all resources to simulate it. It was, Harry thought grimly, perhaps not the best time to demonstrate that particular talent.   
  
she said firmly, even as her face began to pale with the realization of what she had just said. In spite of her sarcastic words about Snape earlier, it was rather obvious that he intimidated her. And it was that particular sign of human weakness that made Harry give in and mentally agree to this insane trip. He _liked _Amalthea-- and more than that, he wanted to spend time with somebody who wouldn't try to smother him with attention. Not after this last year. Not after Cedric, and Cho, and Voldemort's punctual return during every blasted school year.   
  
Very well. Snape forced the words out and tried to not glare at Harry-- something that he didn't quite succeed at, as his lip twisted sardonically. Amalthea appeared not to notice, staring indifferently out the window, once again immersed in her facade of academic reserve. Harry just barely managed not to cry. Snape looked slightly mollified by the reactions to his presence, and dropped the enormous chocolate bar Dumbledore had brought in earlier next to Harry.   
  
Better eat that, Potter, he said with a slightly twisted little smile. Wouldn't want you to be too ill to come, now. . . would we? He arched an eyebrow at Harry, nodded curtly at Amalthea, and swept out of the room. The sound of the door slamming roused Amalthea enough to stand, and she patted his hand absently before wandering out of the infirmary.   
  
Harry threw himself back on the bed and groaned loudly. No Dursleys-- good. On the other hand, he was about to spend the summer with an adult, emotionally dead Hermione and his nasty Potions teacher. He rolled over on his side, glaring at the new bar of chocolate. The thing was bloody huge, he thought grimly. He lay there for another minute, pondering the nauseating idea of having to call Severus Snape before he lost his patience, marched over to the window, and chucked the chocolate out onto the Quidditch field. At times like these, he really wished Sirius wasn't making nightly appearances on Wizard's Most Wanted.   
  
Then again, when Sirius heard he'd be spending the summer pretending to be Snape's son, he'd probably have a coronary, and then Harry would be _really_ stuck.   
  
Pondering the idea for a bit, he let out a bit of laugh, which quickly stopped once the chocolate hurled itself back through the window. He stuck his head out the window to see Severus Snape gliding past. Harry just stared for a minute, then slammed the chocolate into the bed and let out a frustrated yell.   
  
How on earth was he supposed to survive this summer? 


	4. Meet Your Destiny

A/N: And here comes chapitre four-- and 82 reviews! Wow! You guys are AMAZING. I can't thank you enough, and so this chapter is dedicated to everyone that has reviewed and sent such lovely comments.   
  
Also dedicated to She's A Star, because . . . well, she knows why. Because she rocks the socks and she wrote IR! Breakfast foods, anyone?   
  
  
Chapter Four: Meet Your Destiny  
  
Of all the hair-brained schemes in the world, this is the _worst. _How the _hell _does Albus expect us to get through this horrific excuse for a holiday without our magic?  
  
Severus, please. We have it for emergencies, you know that. Albus just feels our cover would be better protected should we reserve it for that.   
  
I can't imagine why I didn't resign in the first place--  
  
  
  
Bad enough that I have to spend the summer with Potter--  
  
Gee, thanks.  
  
Pretending to be a loving husband-- don't gape, Potter, you look more idiotic than you usually do.  
  
  
  
But this!  
  
  
  
Before Harry could blink at Amalthea's shout, she had pulled out her wand and advanced on Snape, her wand held at battle-ready position.  
  
I. Am. Not. she said clearly, her wand two inches from Snape's hooked nose. Snape swallowed visibly, his sallow face turning a nasty shade of pale green. Harry eased himself into the shadows, wishing that he'd thought to wear black. Going to go through this with you again. I don't like it, you don't like it, Harry doesn't like it-- but Albus clearly has sadistic tendencies and we have to suffer through this. All right? She stormed over to the fireplace, took a pinch of Floo powder, and vanished into a whirl of green flames.   
  
Snape and Harry stared at each other.  
  
Harry said blankly.   
  
Snape agreed, all the wind temporarily taken out of his sails by Amalthea's sudden turn of temper. It is quite true, then, that hell hath no fury like a woman irritated. They stared for a long moment until Harry finally roused himself and walked over the fireplace. Snape arched an eyebrow at him.  
  
Not backing out, then, Potter?   
  
And miss all this? Harry asked sarcastically. Not for a million.   
  
Snape snorted lightly and shook his head.   
  
The Gryffindor stupidity strikes again. Very well, Potter, he snapped in response to Harry's questioning look. After you. He raised another hand to his hair and winced. Why on earth did Amalthea have to charm it this short? Surely some Muggle men must understand the virtues of-- oh, go on, Potter.   
  
Yes, Professor, Harry said grumpily, and shouted into the whirl of green flames, hoping very much he articulated his words properly this time round. Somehow, he didn't think Snape would object to leaving him in Knockturn Alley.   
  
When he'd tumbled out of the fireplace and dusted himself off, Harry looked up to see Amalthea nervously poking a lampshade with her wand. He hid a smile and looked curiously around the room. Neat, clean, and already furnished, if a bit dark. They'd all agreed that it was better to Floo in before sunrise rather than deal with Muggle transportation.   
  
He flipped the light on, and Amalthea yelled and jumped back.   
  
she shrieked as Snape stepped out of the fireplace, grimly brushing dust off his shirt and glaring around.   
  
It's too early in the morning for Potter to have destroyed something yet. Snape, of course, who was busy examining a cushion. His lip curling, he put the floral face down and nodded.   
  
Amalthea said dangerously, ignoring Snape. What, exactly, did you just do?   
  
It's just-- the light-- Harry gasped in between fits of laughter.  
  
Potter's cracked.  
  
Harry, so help me--  
  
No magic, now, Amalthea. We can't have you hexing Mr. Potter into oblivion, now can we?  
  
Shut up, Severus!  
  
The light-- the light--  
  
Stop laughing! Amalthea's voice rose to a high-pitched whine and Snape abruptly shut up, evidently remembering the previous events.  
  
It's just a light switch, Harry said patiently, finally mastering control of himself. He flipped it up and down a few times. It controls the light.   
  
Experimentally, Amalthea gave it a try. How peculiar. . .  
  
Would you like to train your telescope on it, Amalthea?  
  
Wouldn't you like to go pick out your bedroom? Amalthea shot back, her pale face flushed with embarrassment and indignation. See if you can drown yourself-- she remembered where she was. Harry, you go too.   
  
Aw, but I was looking forward to--  
  
It's too early in the morning for me to deal with you, Potter. Snape advanced on Harry, glaring with full force. Harry gulped.   
  
Snape could only be pushed so far, Harry decided as he mounted the stairs. Besides, first choice of the bedrooms was nothing to sneer at.  
  
Snape said conversationally, turning back to his Amalthea Sinistra. Perhaps Dumbledore could have been crueler-- there was always Trelawny to be reckoned with-- but still. Ah, well. At least Sinistra was quiet, and had half a brain in her head. Didn't know how to handle Potter, but nobody was perfect. Now that we've got Potter taken care of, I suppose we had better discuss this farce of a marriage.  
  
Amalthea said curtly. She sat down on the chaise and crossed her ankles primly. Snape mentally rolled his eyes-- he would have done it physically, but that would certainly fall under the undignified behavior' category. _Prissy, half-baked Astronomy teacher,_ he thought balefully as he folded his arms.  
  
_Greasy, unpleasant, and all-around ridiculous Potions professor,_ Amalthea thought snidely. The expression on his face was all too clear. Well, fine. If Snape intended to be that way, then she would let him. She'd smoothed the way for her relucant long enough. He could struggle through this conversation on his own.  
_  
_ Snape began.  
  
Amalthea replied placidly. She plucked a thread off of her skirt and flicked it onto the clean floor. Snape visibly flinched.  
  
Good.  
  
We're a married couple, Snape said painfully.  
  
A nod.  
  
And we need to establish the relationship we'll be presenting to-- to the rest of the world.  
  
There was a tiny smudge on the corner of her spectacles.  
  
And doubtlessly we will have to present some sort of . . .   
  
Better check to make sure that smudge hadn't transferred itself to the white blouse she wore.   
  
. . . physical contact, occasionally. . .  
  
That cushion Severus had adjusted definitely didn't match the opposite one.  
  
Are you paying any attention? Sinistra!   
  
His irritated voice broke through her studied indifference, and she looked up at him.  
  
I'm sorry, Snape, did you say something?  
  
Snape growled in the back of his throat and stalked over to where she sat, pulling her up from her dainty pose. She flinched back a little as his hand refused to release hers. Snape was considerably taller than she was-- nearly a foot higher, and even without his billowing robes, she felt tiny this close to him.  
  
I'm not going to hex you, Snape snarled. Remember Albus the sadist? This is further proof.   
  
she said softly, biting her lower lip and colouring a little. Damn Albus. This was humiliating.   
  
Please, Sinistra, lose the blushing virgin act.  
  
Her only response to that was to flush an even deeper shade of red. This was, on second thought, beyond humiliating. Snape dropped her hand and looked askance at her.  
  
Oh, no, he said, sounding truly horrified. Amalthea, deciding enough was enough, drew herself up and glared. No, they were not taking that particular route of confession. She truly had no desire whatsoever to know about whatever it was the man did in bed when he was alone, much less when someone was drugged enough to be in there with him.  
  
That's none of your business, she said quickly, taking hold of his hand again. Now. You're making a fuss over nothing. This will be painful, but easy. Watch. Gritting her teeth together, she wrapped her arms around Snape's neck and hugged him lightly, careful to keep a healthy distance between their bodies. Ugh. His hair really was as greasy as it looked.  
  
Oh, for God's sake, Amalthea. He pulled her closer, his hands fitting on her waist. She waited patiently until he released her a few seconds later. This certainly was anticlimactic. There. That's it.   
  
I have to crane my neck to look up at you. Surely that's not normal?   
  
You're not doing it right, then, Snape said peevishly. He dragged her closer and placed her arms around him again. She touched a lock of his hair and bit back a shudder. He released her and sighed. What now?  
  
Can't you wash your hair?   
  
Can't you comb yours? Snape snapped back with a pointed glance at her frizzy hair. You're as terrible as that Granger girl.   
  
That has nothing to do with my personal hygiene.  
  
Oh, really? Snape arched an eyebrow and smiled sardonically. Hair usually does, as you were so generous to remark upon.  
  
Oh, for heaven's--  
  
You're holding my hand, Snape interrupted. She halted in the middle of her tirade to look down at their intertwined fingers. Strange. She swallowed suddenly. Her fingers felt hot and moist and uncomfortable this close to Snape's bony hand. Awkwardness, she decided, turning back to the conversation.  
  
Well, let my hand go! she demanded harshly when the pressure on her fingers wasn't immediately alleviated.   
  
I'm not the one holding on! Snape said curtly.  
  
You took my hand first!   
  
You are utterly ridiculous, Sinistra.  
  
The bright tones of Harry's voice interrupted them, and they looked up to see him grinning at their joined hands. Snape snatched his hand away and scowled darkly. Harry only smirked in return.  
  
Did you want something, Potter?  
  
Yeah, actually, Harry replied nonchalantly, stretching himself over the banister. Would this be a bad time to mention this house only has two bedrooms?   
  
Well, that won't be difficult, Amalthea said briskly, stepping around Snape to walk up to the bedrooms. Snape raised a puzzled eyebrow-- were they sending Potter to sleep in the bath? A perfectly logical idea in his mind, but somehow he couldn't see it happening. The powers-that-be hated him too much for that. Amalthea continued up the stairs and gave Snape a predatory smile. Severus can sleep on the floor.  
  
This day couldn't get any worse.  
  
It wasn't until a few hours after breakfast that he had proof the opposite would be true. Until then, things had gone surprisingly well, he thought idly as he flipped through a Muggle scientific journal. Potter and Amalthea had bestirred themselves enough to not burn down the kitchen during breakfast, although Snape suspected Potter had more to do with that than his . . . especially in light of the shouts he'd overheard that sounded suspiciously like feminine pleas for help with the toaster.   
  
But breakfast had passed by calmly enough, and Potter and Amalthea were quietly perusing something called. . . tellie-visien, when a bell sounded throughout the house. Amalthea jumped and flung a small plastic controller away from her in defense, but Potter had merely walked to the door. Muggles, Snape thought dryly as he peered over the top of his periodical to eye the newcomers, simply overcompensated for their lack of magic. Bells and flashing pictures and. . .  
  
Possibly the most gaudy woman he had ever seen.  
  
And she stood before him, resplendent in a cheap, sparkling, and decidedly sleazy green and black gown that showed a few too many of her forty-something curves. Her long, curving black nails tapped against a pile of pitch black hair that hung limply against the back of her neck. Lips, smeared with dark crimson cosmetics. Eyes shadowed with a glittering substance that shot up to her false eyebrows.  
  
There was nothing to be had for it-- Snape _winced. _  
  
Because the. . . woman . . . was smiling.  
  
At him.   
  
He could hear the cheerful chatter of the other Muggles with Amalthea and Potter-- apparently the boy about Potter's age was a son, and they'd wanted to stop by before their day in London-- but the woman just smiled at him as he sweated.   
  
Snape said, a finger digging under his collar. Rita Skeeter. That hideous cow and Trelawney clearly had a love child, because there was no other way to explain this creature. I'm Severus Snape.  
  
The woman collapsed onto a chair next to his. I know, she purred, running a long, thin finger up her false fur stole. I knew the moment I saw you.  
  
I'm. . . sorry? Snape hazarded.   
  
The bonds of marriage may have grasped your soul in steel-clawed venomous hands, she said quietly, a spark lighting in her eyes. Snape sank down slightly in his chair and tried to catch Amalthea's eye. He couldn't make a scene, not in front of these Muggles-- but surely this wasn't appropriate behavior. But I knew from the moment the depths of your onyx eyes met my own, our souls were meant to meet in the scarlet tongue of that holy fire.  
  
. . . what the _hell?  
  
_Aunt Destiny? a voice broke through his stunned disbelief. Whatcha saying to Harry's dad?  
  
Oh, Thomas, the breathy voice answered him. We must find solace where we will.  
  
Right, Auntie, the young boy answered, exchanging an amused look with Potter. Hello, sir. I'm Thomas Day. This is my aunt, Destiny du Maurier.   
  
Amalthea started, just visibly.   
  
Destiny. . . du Maurier? she asked carefully, avoiding Snape's eye for a moment. Interesting name, she said lightly, winding a curl around her ring finger.  
  
As is Amalthea, Destiny du Maurier. . . a name that fit the woman devastatingly well, Snape decided. . . smiled thinly over at Amalthea.   
  
And I'm Geoff Day, and this is my wife Marie, another man broke in with an alarmed glance at who was clearly his sister-in-law. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bayley.  
  
Snape said stiffly, and rose to find the drinks Potter had pointed out this morning. He needed something strong.   
  
. . . very, very strong.   
  
And you've spent all those years abroad? Marie Day's eyes widened. My goodness, how long have you been married?  
  
Sixteen years, Amalthea said blithely-- the very moment Snape decided to break into the conversation.  
  
Eighteen years.  
  
I mean, it's been sixteen years since we got married . . .we had. . .  
  
A long engagement, Snape said flatly, taking a long sip of gin and tonic. Amalthea nodded energetically.  
  
A very long engagement, because I was. . . nursing.  
  
Potter offered, and went off into inane cackling with his new friend. Snape closed his eyes and massaged his temples.   
  
You see, my dearest danish, Destiny whispered in his ear, you and your wife have clearly lost the painstaking dreams and strangled agony of lovers.  
  
Snape said, very slowly, as his fingers systematically strangled a tassel on a cushion. Am not a breakfast food.  
  
Of course not, my torturer, my lover, my destiny, she murmured dramatically. You are the hero of my stories made flesh by my ebony ink that spills out across the creamy page. When, in my stories, you take the trembling heroine into your arms and kiss her with all the passionate fire that I know burns in your veins, I feel you clutched against my own breast, and my breath heaves and burns in my slim throat--  
  
You write romance novels, Snape said flatly. Amalthea looked over at the two of them curiously, but said nothing. Snape sighed, mentally reassigned Albus to the seventh circle of hell, and went to fetch himself another drink.  
  
Or perhaps he'd just pour the alcohol down his throat in an attempt to dull the pain. It was probably a very good thing Albus had prohibited all but necessary magic, as a certain Muggle would find herself on the end of an Slightly-Less-Than-Unforgivable curse.   
  
Breakfast foods, indeed.


	5. Investigation and Indigestion

(For Author's Notes, please see the next chapter)  
  
Chapter Five: Investigation and Indigestion  
  
The sun was streaming in from the windows, the birds were warbling outside, and Amalthea Sinistra shifted happily on the soft mattress she was lying on. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, then rolled over on her side to look out the window. Lovely. The faint smell of bacon rose up to greet her, and she sniffed happily. Harry must have started breakfast without her-- she couldn't really blame the poor boy for not wanting to let her near that pernicious toaster-thing again.  
  
Sighing contentedly, she smiled at her hair, lying flat for once, and at the nice new outfit that lay on the nearby chair, feeling unaccountably grateful for the Muggle fondness for trousers. Ah, yes. Life was wonderful. Her new nightgown, a pale blue cotton, was simply heavenly in this splendid climate. And there, near the wardrobe, in a heap of blankets, was Severus Snape, arms folded, glaring up a storm at her--  
  
Oh.   
  
Not wonderful.  
  
she said primly, drawing up the covers to hide her-- well, her throat, anyway. Did you sleep well? Snape curled his lip at her.  
  
I don't think I've _ever _been so uncomfortable in my life, Amalthea, and that includes the thrice-damned time I spent the night between a basilisk and a thoroughly drunk Lucius Malfoy.  
  
Oh? You know, I once spent the night outside looking for a meteor, and I thought this rock, you know, because I was outside, and there are rocks outside-- Severus? Severus, what are you doing?  
  
During the course of her speech, Snape had very calmly risen, walked to the window, and was looking out at the street below. _In his boxers. _Black ones, she noted idly before the rest of her brain caught up with her. Amalthea swallowed, looked very quickly down at her hands, and tried not to squeak. Although, all things considered, it wasn't as horrifying a sight as she'd expected. Severus was rather thin, but he had a nice, lean physique--  
  
Oh, sweet stars. She had not just had that thought. She was. . . tired. Exhausted. Overworked. And. . . wearing her glasses.   
  
No. She quickly snatched them off her face. Not wearing her glasses. There. He immediately went out of focus. Much better. Now, if she squinted and tilted her head to the right. . . there. Now he looked a little like Hagrid. A rather short, blurry, half-naked Hagrid. She hid a wince and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Her imagination worked a little too well.   
  
Problems, Amalthea?   
  
Not at all, she answered sweetly, grabbing the bedpost to make certain that it was not merely a disembodied blur. If only the eyesight charms actually worked on her horrible vision, she thought grimly, trying to gauge the distance to the lavatory without her spectacles. Five large steps, a little to the right, then she'd have to fumble around her the doorknob. She could make it. She'd left her second pair in there. Perfect. She took an uneven step towards the door, trying not to throw her arms out.   
  
Can you see at all without your spectacles, Amalthea?   
  
Of course I can, she gritted out, taking another tentative step. Can't you?  
  
A long pause. She remembered belatedly that he didn't wear spectacles. May I ask why you feel this is necessary to prove?   
  
I don't know what you're talking about, she said airily, feeling her way around a small table. Her fingers caught and knocked down a bit of cool metal. Probably her wedding ring. she whispered, bending to search for it. Carpet, carpet, carpet. . . more carpet. . . her hand dragged over the cool fabric, searching for something solid. Ah. There it was.  
  
She straightened up. Ruddy piece of metal, worn on her ring finger indeed, she thought as her toe stubbed painfully against a chair. At least Severus wasn't saying anything.   
  
Speaking of which, where was Severus? He'd not made a single comment during her mad search for the ring. Suddenly nervous, she whirled around and managed to hit her head on a shelf, fall backwards, and land firmly on the ground. Wincing, she rubbed her head and tried not to cry. Whatever had happened to her perfect morning?   
  
Some help? he asked, suppressed amusement lurking beneath his normally impassive voice. You do function rather poorly without visual assistance, I'm afraid.  
  
Go she mumbled, pushing herself up. Taking a deep breath, she snatched the spectacles from Snape's hand. Thank you, she said curtly, sending the world back into focus. Dear God, he was still in his shorts. Don't blush, Amalthea. Don't turn red. It's just Snape.   
  
You're blushing.   
  
Shut up! she snarled, and slammed the door behind her. Once inside, she sank against the cool tiled floor and buried her face in her hands. All right, fine. She'd bought some Muggle cosmetics at Boots the other day while Severus had been off sulking, and she was rather eager to try them out. The Muggle makeup specialist had assured her that her eyes would be twice as large, although Amalthea wasn't quite sure how that would be managed with the coloured powders and the--  
  
Bourjois Coup De Theatre Mascara, she read carefully, biting her lower lip as she read the description. Contained within a double ended casing with a lengthening brush. . . and a thickening brush. . . a result that is quite simply spectacular. Hmm. After carefully setting her spectacles inside, she dipped the lengthening brush in the tube of black liquid and raised it to her eyelashes.   
  
she hissed as the harsh bristles poked her in the eye and the brush slid down her cheek. A long, jagged line of makeup ran under her eye and to her nose. She spat onto her hand and tried to remove it.   
  
Hmm. Surely her skin wasn't supposed to turn grey? She tried again, but the rapid fluttering of her eyelashes only gave her a shadowed eye. Her lashes didn't look any longer. . . the area surrounding her eye appeared diseased, though.   
  
All right, she muttered grimly. Perhaps the foundation needed to be applied first. It was, after all, foundation, and the entomological meaning of the word was. . .   
  
Right. She took a fingerful of the cold cream and smeared it over the grey area of her cheek. Better. If she took some of that loose powder and put it over-- oh, now it was clumping. She whined under her breath and rubbed energetically at the spot with her fingers.   
  
What are you _doing _in there? Severus sounded irritated, to say the least. If you intend on complaining about my personal hygiene all the time, perhaps you might let me make use of the facilities occasionally.  
  
she sing-songed, surreptitiously rubbing some concealor under her eye. There. That fixed it. Now the other eye, she thought nervously, holding the brush to her eye with trembling hands.   
  
she shrieked, covering her poor eye, nearly gauged out by the brush. Severus threw the door open (which, in hindsight, she certainly should have locked), his wand at ready, and was promptly hit between the eyes by a tube of flying mascara.  
  
She stopped.   
  
he said dangerously.  
  
she answered meekly, easing out towards the bedroom.  
  
She could nearly hear him run through the blistering remarks in his head. His mouth opened and closed slightly as he rubbed the spot where she'd accidentally hit him.   
  
What. The. _Hell. _Are you doing?  
  
she ventured, ducking down to gather up her clothes.   
  
Snape repeated. Besides attempting to murder me with Muggle cosmetics? Besides leaving me to suffer through an entirely stiff back because you are too-- he spat out the words. _Prissy _to keep to a side of the bed? Amalthea's mouth opened.  
  
she snapped.  
  
Yes, prissy.   
  
she said pointedly, dropping the shirt and stalking over to where he stood. Am not prissy.   
  
No? Good God, Amalthea, you can't even see a man shirtless without turning seven shades of red.  
  
Her eyebrows arched delicately. Fine. Two could play at his game. Very carefully, and very deliberately, she pulled her nightdress over her head, glorying in every choke she heard out of her mouth (and feeling very thankful that she wore a vest and pants underneath her gown), and turned to face him.   
  
His face was a peculiar shade of crimson. It made for a very interesting look under his sallow skin, she thought absently.   
  
she said sweetly as she pulled the shirt over her head. I must have heard you say I was prissy.  
  
I-- Amalthea--  
  
Breakfast's on, she said airily, and stepped into her trousers.  
  
Downstairs, Harry had arranged a very appealing plate of sausage, boiled eggs, and toast on the table. Amalthea cast an appreciative eye over the food as she slid into her chair.   
  
Harry said cheerfully, sitting down next to her.   
  
Good morning, she replied, smiling at him. Thanks for doing this, Harry. You don't have to, you know. I'm sure I can handle Muggle cooking if I can plot stars.  
  
Harry said, doubtfully eyeing her. He was evidently remembering her run-in with a few Muggle contraptions in the kitchen. He watched her for another moment as she carefully arranged the food on her plate, then shrugged. Well, if you're sure, maybe I could eat supper with Thomas' family tonight?  
  
she smiled. An acquaintance with the Days will turn out to be quite useful, I think. Marie is introducing me around the neighborhood today, and hopefully our wayward friends will be at home.  
  
Do they live as Muggles, then?  
  
Yes, and they seem to be thought of as rather unsociable people. But I'm fairly confident I can at least wrangle an introduction. But, Harry-- she paused, bracing herself for the inevitable upset this would call. I need to go alone.  
  
Harry asked calmly.  
  
Well, I don't know if they'll recognize Severus, really-- I don't think they will, he didn't recognize their names, but. . . and you're just a bit too recognizable to be parading around in front of them. She looked him up and down carefully before dropping her announcement. Perhaps you and Severus could do something while I'm gone? Maybe. . . perhaps go down to the shops and . . . her voice trailed off. You won't mind too much, will you?  
  
It'll be fine, Harry assured her. We can't kill each other, and the rest is normal. He's not very fond of me, as you might have noticed.  
  
Ah, well, Amalthea's mouth twitched, and she twisted a lock of hair around her finger. I don't think he's particularly attached to me, either.  
  
What, did you have _another_ row? Harry sounded torn between amusement and despair. She frowned playfully at him and tossed a bit of toast at his head.   
  
Hush, you, she said, sipping at her orange juice tentatively.   
  
Like it?  
  
It's not pumpkin juice, but yes, it's not bad.   
  
You could call out for takeaway for supper, you know, Harry offered, taking a bite of the toast after he spoke. It might be easier than cooking a whole meal.   
  
What's takea. . . . her voice trailed off as Snape entered the kitchen, sat down imperially, and stabbed a piece of sausage with his fork. Good morning, she said meekly. Best not to push him any more until he'd eaten.   
  
He raised his eyebrow. Indeed. Potter. He jerked his head toward Harry, who appeared to be hiding something of a smile.  
  
Good morning, Harry said, swallowing the rest of his juice and standing. Amalthea, forgetting Snape's mood for a moment, frowned over at Harry.   
  
Is that all you're going to eat? she asked sternly, eyeing the considerable remnants of toast and sausage that remained on his plate.   
  
Er, yes? Harry ventured, looking slightly puzzled. Amalthea looked at him over the top of her glasses. Harry swallowed, and Snape looked down at his own plate with concern, glancing back and forth between his food and Amalthea, as if to judge the minimum amount he would need to ingest.  
  
Eat a decent meal, she said with finality, and turned back to her own food. Oh, and Severus?   
  
he asked grumpily, washing down an egg with some juice. Amalthea pointed toward the window, a definite smile now on her face. Your object d'amour is heading towards this house.  
  
he snapped, and then caught sight of Destiny du Maurier bearing down determinedly upon the front door, clutching a basket in her manicured hands. Oh, dear God. What is _wrong _with this woman?   
  
Besides the obvious, you mean? Harry asked dryly.   
  
Of course, Amalthea poured herself some more juice and settled back.   
  
Wasn't the entire point of this charade that so I wouldn't have to deal with this kind of thing? Snape asked plaintively. Potter-- Harry-- whatever your name is--  
  
  
  
What makes you think I care? Snape said acidly. The point is, aren't I supposed to be married? He jabbed a finger over at Amalthea. To _her?  
  
_Your affection is underwhelming, Amalthea responded coolly, folding her arms across her chest and raising an eyebrow.  
  
Damn her, Snape thought privately as she tilted her head, awaiting a response. No one else was allowed to utilize the sarcastic potential of an eyebrow raise besides him. Certainly not Amalthea Sinistra, and certainly not in this situation.  
  
Harry cleared his throat. Well, you two don't really act close. She probably thinks she can. . .  
  
Snape said deliberately. A knock on the door sounded. He thought rapidly. Fine, then. One evil was vastly preferable to the other.   
  
  
  
He took hold of her arm and pulled her up from her chair. Accompany me, please. Harry watched them go, his hands pressed firmly to his mouth to stifle his laughter. Snape mentally promised himself to stick the infuriating boy with all the household chores later.  
  
Amalthea sputtered, digging her heels into the kitchen floor. Severus, what on earth do you think you're doing?   
  
His only response was to hook his arm around her shoulder as they approached the door. Amalthea's mouth opened wide.   
  
Oh, no. Severus-- no. Absolutely not. Don't even _think_ about it.  
  
You're the one who wanted to be convincing.  
  
I lied, she snapped.  
  
My apologies, Amalthea, he said snidely as he swung the door open. Ah. Yes. Miss du Maurier. This is quite early for you to be up, isn't it? Amalthea stopped struggling, but instead leaned as far she could against the doorframe. Snape merely took a step to the side, effectively pinning her to the wood.   
  
the horrifying woman said breathily. I thought that perhaps you might wish to partake of the refreshment of the body as well as the sepia-toned purging of the memories of the soul.  
  
Amalthea blinked. You brought muffins? she asked, her voice slightly incredulous.   
  
Destiny du Maurier's lip curled at Amalthea. Of course, I shouldn't expect such a prosaic soul as yours to understand the beauty there is in nourishment.  
  
Of course not, Amalthea echoed faintly. Snape reached around and took the basket with his free hand, smiling insincerely. He'd show Amalthea Sinistra that you did not trifle with him. Ever.  
  
Well, the sweetie and I will be sure to enjoy them, he said sardonically, hugging Amalthea closer to him. Won't we, dear?   
  
Amalthea stared.  
  
Well, I hoped that-- that was the ridiculous woman. Again. Snape forced a smile to his lips and nodded.   
  
Oh, well, you can't interfere with a love as true as ours, right. . . Ah, this was more painful than he thought it would be. he ground out.   
  
. . . No? Amalthea said weakly.  
  
After all, it's-- he paused, searching for a suitably dramatic flourish. Written-- in the _stars! _Anything to get rid of this irritating woman permanently, even a temporary loss of dignity. Potter, thankfully, was still at the breakfast table. Wincing, he bent and very briefly pressed his lips to Amalthea's.   
  
Destiny du Maurier shrieked and muttered something about iridescent fate, and Snape very smugly closed the door in her wake.   
  
he said coolly, I told you--   
  
Amalthea's hand reached out and slapped him mightily across the face. He looked down to see a furious petite woman, her cheeks scarlet with mortification.   
  
he began, thinking that perhaps he might not have taken the wisest course of action. His thinking was definitely dulled by this absurd situation.  
  
Severus Snape, you ever_-- ever-- _do that again, and-- and-- she bunched her hands together and stood on her tiptoes to glare up at him. And I'll happily explain to Albus what _exactly_ you are doing in newt form!  
  
Her finger slammed angrily into his chest. Now, I'm going to investigate these ridiculous excuses for wizards, while _you _take Harry out to the shops and attempt to act like an excuse for a considerate human being. If you'll excuse me. She turned on her heel and flounced off.   
  
Snape's mouth opened and closed a few times before he caught sight of Potter staring at him.   
  
the boy said, looking sympathetically at Snape, who had a vague feeling that he ought to be insulted, but couldn't quite muster the energy. You got it, didn't you?   
  
he said tersely. Now apparently I have to take you shopping. He had the dubious pleasure of seeing Potter turn white.   
  
You've got to be joking.  
  
Have I ever, in the entire course of our regrettably long association, ever joked?  
  
Potter paused, deliberating over the situation. But now would be a really nice time to start.   
  
~---------------------------------------------------~  
  
It wasn't until she and Marie Day were settled in the parlour of the Parkington's house (the rather sad excuse for the wizarding group's front-- she hadn't been in the place five minutes before spotting at least three magical devices in plain sight) that Amalthea's cheeks stopped flaming at the memory of Severus' impromptu kiss. The sheer audacity of the man. . . thinking that he could-- he could--   
  
And she wasn't at all thinking about the way his lips had felt against her own, softer and fuller than she would have expected. And not the smell of the Muggle cologne she had bought in Boots for Severus, assuring him that it was absolutely pivotal to surviving in Muggle society to wear it 24-7.   
  
She took a deep breath and smiled tightly at Hannah Parkington, a small, slender blonde who looked as uncomfortable in Muggle clothes as Severus did. The woman-- Laria Avare, in reality, had spent the past ten minutes deftly dodging questions about subjects as innocuous as her curtain materials.   
  
So how long have you lived here? she asked, stifling a yawn as Marie looked desperately out the window. She felt quite awful, really, turning this tour of the neighborhood into a question and answer session with the so-called Parkingtons, but it was her job. And the sooner she established some kind of foothold, the better. But could anything interesting really be going on here? Albus had to be jumping a shadows.  
  
_Hey! Sinistra!   
  
_No. Absolutely not. She was not going to let this . . . upsetting little episode with Severus bring her memory back to her girlhood. Especially not that . . .that silly little incident, really, involving Lucius Malfoy and his Slytherin servants.   
  
_Lucius wanted to know if you would meet him in the Astronomy Tower tomorrow night!  
  
_Oh. Hannah Parkington was saying something. Amalthea frowned inwardly. She'd passed over that horrible embarrassment years ago. She'd been all of fourteen, for heaven's sake! So why was she letting it distract her now?  
  
We'd be delighted to have you and your family over for tea next week, the woman said with an icy smile. So I hope you won't mind too much if I ask you to excuse us now. I've an appointment to keep.   
  
Not at all, Amalthea said automatically, standing and shaking the woman's hand. . . good heavens, was that a Sneakascope on the shelf? Had they no sense of espionage? Thank you so much for your invitation. We're so pleased to accept.  
  
I'm sure, the woman said softly as she watched Amalthea and Marie depart.   
  
---------------------------------~  
  
I refuse to buy her a gift simply because she is not adult enough to understand the concept of deception, Harry! Snape hissed, his arms crossed stubbornly as they stood in front of the window display.   
  
You could have at least asked her before doing that, Harry pointed out sensibly.   
  
I don't recall asking your opinion before you dragged me in front of this ludicrous excuse for a shop, Snape said acridly. Yet here I am. Are you to purchase a gift for me?   
  
Sn-- Dad--  
  
And if you do intend to, might I suggest something other than a scarf? His lip curled. A silk scarf, no less. This is Amalthea Sinistra we're speaking of, not Sibyl Trelawney.  
  
What makes you think she wouldn't like a scarf? Harry asked indigently. Snape snorted and gestured at the floral scarf in the display before them.   
  
This is _Sinistra_. She's been the same since she was a first-year squealing through the Sorting Ceremony because her spectacles got caught in the Sorting Hat. The only things that have changed about her is her hair's gotten frizzier and her tendency to speak about everything has considerably diminished. Snape paused, thinking this over. Unfortunately a trait that I have not seen much of on this trip.  
  
You knew her in school? Harry asked curiously as he headed into the shop anyway, hoping Snape would follow. He did, probably bearing in mind the shrieks that would greet him if he came home sans Harry.   
  
Don't be an idiot, Snape sniffed, looking down at series of silver rings with disdain. She's only a year younger than I am. And however old I may appear to your eyes, Potter-- Harry-- rest assured, we did have Floo powder then as well.   
  
She was in Ravenclaw, wasn't she? Harry picked up an enormous floppy hat and twirled it on his fingers idly.   
  
Oh, yes. She does have brains, I suppose, despite the infrequent airing of them. I didn't know her well, of course. She was just a pudgy little know-it-all enamoured with-- Snape stopped abruptly.   
  
Harry asked, his ears pricking up at the mention of gossip. Snape turned the full power of a glare on him, and he wilted back.   
  
Don't discuss the private business of teachers, he snapped. Now. If you're so insistent upon purchasing this frivolity, pick one out so we may leave this substitute for the underworld itself.  
  
It's not that bad, Harry mumbled, deciding on a filmy lavender scarf with beaded trimmings. You're just cranky.   
  
__ Snape sounded incredulous behind him. I'm sorry, Potter, did you just describe me as _cranky_?  
  
Harry corrected absently as he nabbed the credit card from Snape's stunned hand. _  
_  
Fine then, Harry, did you-- Dead silence followed as Harry neatly paid for the scarf and took the carrier bag. Snape said dangerously as they exited the store.   
  
he tossed back, keeping his tone deliberately light and innocent.  
  
You have exactly two seconds before I throttle you, Amalthea or none.  
  
So. . .   
  
I might suggest running.  
  
Right. Thanks for the, er, thought.  
  
Think nothing of it.  
  
---------------------------------~  
  
For God's sake, Amalthea, it can't be that hard!   
  
Then you come in here and cook, she shrieked back at Severus, throwing her apron on the floor. You lazy git, yes, you come in here and cook!  
  
Perhaps it would guarantee that we would digest our suppers!   
  
Perhaps it would guarantee that it would put us all to sleep!  
  
I'm aware that you know absolutely _nothing _about potions ingredients, Amalthea, but surely even you must know that not every concoction puts you to sleep!  
  
And I'm supposed to trust you with my eating materials _why, _Severus?  
  
Your opinion of me is quite flattering, Amalthea, but-- a very pregnant pause, and Severus poked his head into the kitchen. Is something boiling?   
  
Oh-- dammit! Severus! She hissed and dove for the stovetop. Her mouth trembling, she whirled on Severus, the spoon held like a wand. It's ruined! _You_ ruined it!  
  
I ruined it? _I did?_ I spent the entire day looking after Potter-- bad enough that I have to do it during the school year--  
  
You spent most of the day dragging him around by the ear, lecturing him about the proper use of viper's blood in a potion! Small wonder Longbottom has a breakdown every third Thursday in Astronomy class, if this is how you treat your students!  
  
This is the thanks I get for buying you that ridiculous piece of finery in apology--  
  
No, the thanks you get for that is me not throwing you out of the house on your arse!  
  
Oh, how elegant, he sneered.  
  
Rather like that number you pulled this morning, isn't it?  
  
You try dealing with that Destiny du Maurier--  
  
Eat the muffins she brought then, since you're so fond of her!   
  
You must be joking, Amalthea. I'd rather ingest that sludge you call supper than touch those.  
  
Is that a compliment, you arrogant sod?  
  
It's not as if you earn a lot of them!  
  
Shut up!  
  
Temper, temper, Amalthea.  
  
  
  
Harry stuck his head into the kitchen, looking at the scene before him bemusedly.   
  
Sorry to interrupt a lover's spat, you two, but shall I call out for takeaway?   
  
  



	6. Another Summer Day

Chapter Six: Another Summer Day  
  
All right. Fess up. How did you do it?  
  
Severus arched an eyebrow at her and took a long sip of juice. Beg your pardon?  
  
Amalthea leaned forward, a lock of her hair straying dangerously close to the butter dish. How did you do it?  
  
Do what? he repeated, tucking the curl back behind her ear. She coloured slightly, and ran her hand over her hair. He sighed irritably. Forgive the intrusion, but I would prefer to ingest butter without your hair in it.   
  
Well, it's not as if-- she caught herself and straightened back up. You're not changing the subject, Severus! Tell me how you did it!   
  
I haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about, he said innocently.  
  
Yes, you do! Amalthea insisted, her elbows sliding forward as she leaned closer. He sniffed the air, an odd look crossing his face. She wrinkled her nose at him and tugged at his sleeve. Come on, Harry's upstairs. Tell me how you made the toast!  
  
You put on too much perfume, he said snidely, turning away to stack the plates.   
_  
_I did not,Amalthea snapped, affronted by the suggestion. It says two sprays on the bottle, and that's what I put on! I did not put on too much! _  
_  
Yes, you did.  
  
I don't _care, _Severus, tell me how you made the toast!  
  
He sighed dramatically and swept the dishes off the table. With the toaster, Amalthea.  
  
She sat back and folded her arms across her chest. Her eyes narrowed. His narrowed as well. Then, most unexpectedly, her lower lip slipped out, pouting at him. Pouting? The rest of his mind caught up with him. Was Sinistra _pouting_ at him?   
  
Surely she had to know that just wasn't done.  
  
So she wasn't pouting at him?  
  
There had to be a logical fallacy in there somewhere.  
  
Please tell me? she coaxed him.   
  
He eyed her doubtfully. Amalthea, you're not a first year.  
  
  
  
Oh, for heaven's sake, he snapped.   
  
If you don't tell me, I'll never know how to cook, she said pleadingly.   
  
Just put it in the toaster!  
  
Amalthea grated out, gathering together the leftover bits of toast and piling them onto a plate. If you don't want to tell me, then-- fine. Be that way.  
  
Could you possibly be any less-- don't do that! He cried as she headed for the rubbish bin. Amalthea paused, plate in hand, staring quizzically at him.   
  
Don't do what? she asked, wrinkling her brow in a way anyone but Severus Snape would consider endearing. She lifted the lid off. . .   
  
And started to laugh. Hysterically.   
  
Stop that, he growled, marching over and jamming the lid back on the bin. He folded his arms, looking down her nose at her in a way that probably would have been more effective had she not been giggling madly.   
  
Oh. . . Severus. . . she wheezed, nearly dropping the plate as she laughed. And here I was-- she sucked in air rapidly. Thinking that you actually knew what you were doing!  
  
he growled.  
  
How much of the bread did you burn trying to get it to work? she asked, finally calming down enough to pry the lid off and look down at the pile of blackened toast. Sweet stars, I'm surprised there was enough left over for breakfast!  
  
And I suppose the puddle of melted plastic you concocted last night was any superior, he snapped, pointedly fingering the the ruined plate. Amalthea, predictably, coloured and mumbled something under her breath.  
  
What was that?  
  
she said quickly. Dear me, is that an owl outside?   
  
They both glanced up to see a bundle of grey feathers collide with the window, let out a horrifying shriek, and slide down into the glass. Severus shook his head. Amalthea sighed.   
  
"Oh, dear," she said, unhooking the window and lifting the bird inside. "They just don't make owls like they used to, do they?"  
  
"I wasn't aware they _made_ owls," Severus said sharply. She made a face at him and gingerly picked up the owl.   
  
"Poor dear," she said, fetching a dishcloth and lying the creature across from it. "Who's the letter for?" she called back as she dipped her fingertips in some cold water. Severus shrugged and turned the envelope over, his lip curling as he noted the bright red heart affixed to the back. Evidently the Muggle attempt at sealing wax. If he didn't know better, he would say that the revolting woman from across the street was the source of this mistaken beauty. His eyebrows shot up as he caught sight of the address.  
  
"Potter," he said slowly, a thin smile crossing his lips as he took in the girlish scrawl. Miss Ginny Weasley was exercising her penmanship out of class, was she? It seemed she spent a good deal more effort on her fan mail to Potter than her Potions assignments. . . after all, she never dotted her i's with a heart when struggling through an essay on unicorn tail. Smirking, he rubbed his fingertips together, thinking of the best way to handle this interesting little piece of information. He could call Potter down and ever-so-kindly read the letter to him, but that would ruin the risk of inflaming Amalthea. And he wasn't inclined towards a shouting match right now, especially after the debacle of the toast.   
  
No, he reluctantly conceded, the only thing to do was to wring plenty of embarrassment out of a hand delivery of this epistle. Which he was sure to do. Potter needn't think that just because Amalthea had taken an unfortunate liking to him, that he could waltz around the house as he pleased.   
  
"Oh. Will you give it to him, please?" Amalthea asked absently. She was now carefully dabbing cold water onto the unconscious owl's wingtips.  
  
"Yes, I– Amalthea, what are you doing to that owl?" She straightened and shot him a full-fledged "Idiot" gaze. He raised his eyebrow, slightly impressed. Where in Merlin's name had she learned to do that? From what he knew of her teaching methods, she preferred to pat children on the head if they so much as spelled star' right. Of course, she followed up on the glare by opening her mouth and speaking, which rather ruined the effect.   
  
Pity.   
  
That glare had almost introduced intelligence into her expression.  
  
"Do you not know _anything_ about owls, Severus?" she inquired grumpily, easing her hand underneath the owl's head as the creature's eyes fluttered open. "I suppose it does grant you a bit much, supposing you understand basic care of creatures, seeing how you can't even wash your own hair." She sent a pointed look at his hair, which shone brightly underneath the kitchen lights.  
  
"Thank you," he snapped. Twit. It probably would shock her to learn that he had washed his hair.   
  
Yesterday.   
  
"Your confidence is certainly overwhelming. I can certainly see why you're widely considered to be the most competent teacher on the faculty."   
  
"Oh, was that sarcasm?" Amalthea bit back frigidly. Two red spots burned on her cheeks and her dark eyes flashed black. Some disobedient part of his mind logged it as a slight improvement over her normally pale self, but he quickly pushed that idea out of his head. "I certainly wouldn't recognize it coming out of your mouth, would I?"  
  
"Would you prefer a sugarcoated version of events?" he said, snatching Potter's letter and heading for the door. "Then again, you might, since you're not capable of accepting some criticism about your rather. . . " his lip twisted. "Interesting teaching techniques." Amalthea's mouth tightened and she whirled back to the owl, who was fluttering to an unsteady hover. Hmm. She was obviously angry.   
  
Good. Served her right. Perhaps he'd even receive the benediction of her silence for the rest of the day.   
  
"Tact, Severus," she said coolly as he marched out of the room. "Look it up."  
  
Impossible woman. Reasons why he was thankful this was a mere charade and not the everyday state of events, he thought grimly as he ascended the stairs to Potter's room. He winced as he passed a window, the gust of hot air blowing over his skin. Surely the temperature wasn't supposed this intolerable in June? He slid a finger underneath his collar, mentally cursing the entire escapade to hell. Clearly, there was only one thing left for him to do.   
  
"Potter?" he gritted out, rapping the door before him. "Owl for you."  
  
The door swung open to reveal Potter, looking slightly puzzled. "For me?"   
he asked, extending his hand for the letter. Snape allowed himself a very small smirk.  
  
"Yes. . . from one," he cast a careless glance at the envelope. "Virginia Weasley, I believe. My, she has lovely penmanship. I particularly admire those. . . hearts that she utilizes so lavishly." He rested a finger on the garish sticker. "It's such a good thing that she extends the theme to the whole of the epistle, isn't it?" Potter wet his lips and turned a very faint pink.   
  
"Uh. . . " the boy swallowed. "Ron must have hurt his wrist and can't write. I mean, Ginny and I hardly know each other. She wouldn't write me   
just for the sake of it."   
  
"Indeed?" Snape asked softly, his eyebrow arching. "I'll just open this, then. . . I'm sure you and Mr. Weasley have no secrets that I need not be privy to?"  
  
"No, that's all right," Harry said hastily, reaching for the letter again. "I'll just read this on my own."  
  
"Oh, no." Snape's eyes positively glittered. "I couldn't possibly let you do such a thing on your own. Amalthea is so adamant about our appearing a credible family, we couldn't possibly let her down here. . . could we, Potter?" Without waiting for an answer, he slid a fingernail under the envelope and tore it open to reveal a pale pink piece of stationary decorated with rotating daisies. Harry closed his eyes and awaited the worst.   
  
_Please, Ginny, please, please, please. . . please don't have written anything that Snape can use.  
_  
"Dear Harry," Snape read with a sneer. Harry quaked inwardly. His life was over. He forced his eyes open, only to see Snape scanning the letter with a slight frown on his face. "Ron says to keep this short, so I'll wait for the next letter to tell you all the news. Ron and I are going to visit our cousin Wilbur in America for a fortnight, so send all your letters to him. His full name is Wilbur Moad Toslan, and he lives in some place called– Ron's being a prat, he says– one minute– sorry, Harry– Florida. Mum's yelling at us, so I'd better send this off. Hope you're doing okay." Snape looked visibly put out by the benign contents of the letter. He tossed the letter at Harry, who caught it with a renewed belief in the kindness of life.   
  
"Charming, Potter," he snapped, whirling to leave. "Gods, is it always this hot here?"   
  
"Well, we could go–" his brain caught up with him even as Snape was storming back to his room. Swimming. Of course they could go swimming.   
  
"Hey– Amalthea!" he shouted down the stairs. Amalthea appeared, Errol floating gratefully behind her.   
  
"Yes?" she asked, wiping her hands down on her jeans and looking quizzically up at him. "What's the matter? Severus didn't give you any trouble about the letter, did he?" Her face darkened slightly, and he hid a grin. So Amalthea was annoyed with Snape, too. All the better for what he had planned.   
  
"No," Harry lied, leaning over the banister. "But it's really hot today, what do you say we go swimming?"   
  
Amalthea brightened considerably. "Ooh, that sounds lovely," she said, scratching a spot on Errol's head. "I think it's going to be dreadfully hot today. . . and I do like to swim. Perhaps even Severus will agree to leave the house!"   
  
Oh, I'm sure we can talk him into it, Harry called down, a malicious grin crossing his face. So this was why the Weasley twins loved what they did.   
  
~--------------------------------~  
  
"I still can't believe you were so clumsy with the water," Snape growled at him as they entered the changing room. "I won't be able to wear these horrifying clothes until they're dry. Why did they design these things–" he winced and scratched his neck. "To chafe so much?" He fixed a glare at Harry. "You did remember my swimming clothes, didn't you?"   
  
"Course," Harry threw back nonchalantly as he pulled off his shirt. He'd elected to wear his tightest shirt, the one that barely fit him. . . it was really nice to have clothes that fit for the change. . . especially when insuring Snape wouldn't fit into him. "They're in the bag," he called back, running a lazy hand through his hair. "I'm going out into the pool, okay?"   
  
"I have no idea what makes you think I'm interested," Snape sniped at him as he left. Harry allowed himself a self-satisfied smile. This was probably taking his life in too much danger, but he just couldn't resist. Maybe next time Snape would think twice before mucking around with Harry's letters. And then. . . maybe he could get some letters from Ginny.   
  
Just because he wanted to hear about America.   
  
And Ron was really a terrible correspondent.  
"Harry!" Amalthea was waving at him from her perch on the edge of the pool. She smiled at him, and he noticed that she was wearing a navy blue suit. A little old-fashioned, yeah, but he thought she looked nice. It was too bad that it was only Snape to notice her here, he thought, settling down by her to wait for the entrance of his hapless She had to meet Sirius, he decided.   
  
"What are you smirking at?" she asked, elbowing him in the ribs.  
  
"Nothing," he said innocently.   
  
"Right," Amalthea said skeptically. "And I'm Rowena Ravenclaw. Come on, what are you up to?"  
  
"Nothing," he grinned over at her. "Nothing that I didn't do earlier, anyway." Amalthea smiled lightly over at him.   
  
"What are you doing to him? Nothing too permanent, I hope. He's already pretty upset over that little incident with the water."  
  
"I don't know why," Harry pointed out, miffed. "He knew we were going swimming then. He does know that water is involved in swimming, right?"   
  
"You never know," Amalthea said resignedly. "He's an interesting person, that's for certain. It's strange, because he'll be tolerable for a minute, and then the next he's being snarky and just. . . " she shuddered delicately. "Really intolerable." She dipped a toe in the water. "You put lotion on at the house, didn't you?"   
  
"I did," Harry confirmed, craning his next to look at the door. He should be coming out any minute now. . . he grabbed Amalthea's arm. "You might want to come into the pool now."   
  
"Why?" Amalthea asked, sliding into the water and holding onto the edge. She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. "Harry. . . what exactly do   
you have planned?"   
  
She was answered by Snape's first appearance in The Speedo. Harry grinned. He hadn't been sure, up till now, that he would put it on. The jeans must have really chafed. He let out a whoop of laughter, which he quickly contained by pressing his hands over his mouth. Snape looked to be really irate, and Harry preferred to be out of his way as much as possible before the inevitably violent confrontation occurred. Amalthea's mouth fell open and she turned bone white.   
  
"Harry. . .?" she whispered hoarsely. "Harry. . . _what_ is he wearing?"   
  
"A Speedo," Harry said blithely, swinging around to float on his back.   
  
"And. . ." she sounded faint. Harry could hardly blame her. The sight was disgusting, to say the least. Snape began to wrap his arms about himself, then seemed to remember where he was, and resolutely placed them down at his side again. Harry turned faintly green at the picture before him. There were apparently reasons why Snape wore high-collared, sweeping black robes. Amalthea caught Harry's eye, flushed, and turned away. "That isn't. . .illegal?" she asked, a strange choke coming into her voice.   
  
"Nope." Harry cast a curious look over at her. Surely seeing him wasn't that bad, was it?  
  
Amalthea swallowed, hard, and sent him a nervous smile. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."   
  
"Oh, I'd never do it to you," he hastened to assure her. "He's another matter entirely."  
  
"Thanks," Amalthea said dryly. "I think." She pressed her hands to her cheeks and shook her head, then floated lazily to join him. "He's going to kill you as soon as he finds out, you know."   
  
"I know," Harry agreed. "But it was worth it."   
  
They stared over at Snape for a long moment until Amalthea spoke again. "I still can't believe he put it on. And you've had it since Debenhams?  
  
"I was afraid he wouldn't," Harry confessed, treading water as he moved out behind the comforting shelter of a large woman. "I guess he must have been really uncomfortable. And yeah, I did buy it then. It was after--"   
  
"He sent the bottles down on your head, she finished. Mmm." She looked over at him and her mouth twitched, caught between disapproving and bursting into laughter. "You do have to live with him, you know. You can't hide forever."   
  
"Nope," he admitted. He peeked over the water and flinched. "He's spotted me."   
  
Amalthea was veritably _giggling_. She splashed the water happily with her hands, sending choppy waves towards Harry. "He's going to murder you. You're going to have detention for the rest of your natural life." Harry glared over at her.   
  
"There's no need to sound quite so happy about it."   
  
"Sorry," she said quickly. "He's, uh, coming over here. So I'm going. . . over. . . there, all right? Cheers, Harry."   
  
"Oh, no." Harry scrambled onto her back, piggy back style. "I need your help."  
  
"My help!" Amalthea squeaked. "Oh, no. . .you got yourself into this situation, you get yourself out of it! Harry! Off!" She swatted at his wrists and began to laugh helplessly.   
  
"Think it's funny, Amalthea?" Snape was standing at the edge of the pool, his arms folded, glaring down at both of them.   
  
That was the turning point for Amalthea. Her sides shaking with laughter, she managed to fall back into the water, sending Harry down with her. Sputtering, he pushed his way up, only to be tackled by Snape's assault in the form of a dive. He kicked out his legs, noticing with not inconsiderable satisfaction that he managed to get Snape in the stomach. Snape managed to wind his bony fingers in Harry's hair and hold Amalthea back, so that battle was quickly brought back to an equal playing field. She aimed a splash of water at Snape's head, evidently trying to get his hair as clean as possible before he got out.   
  
That at least made sense, if nothing else about this afternoon did.  
  
All right, Sever-- Amalthea's protest was caught off when Snape took hold of her ankle and pulled her down to the bottom. She scrambled for the rim, looking something like a drowned rat.  
  
Well, a bespectacled drowned rat.   
  
Harry lunged for the side, managing to splash enough water to throw Snape off. Amalthea managed to extricate herself from the water long enough to run for the safety of the grass, and Harry figured after catching the homicidal glare in Snape's eye that he really out to do the same. He was vaguely conscious that Snape was following them doggedly, but Amalthea was too busy wringing her hair out do anything about it, and Harry was occupied in thanking God, Merlin, and other important beings that he was still alive. They settled down on the grass after a minute, stretching out in the sun.   
  
There they stared at each other for a long moment before beginning to laugh. At least, Amalthea giggled, and Snape let out a snort that might have been a puff of laughter, while Harry lost complete control until Snape poured an entire bucket of ice water over his head.   
  
If this was what families did, Harry reflected as he sucked on an ice lolly, listening to Amalthea scold Snape over the whole affair, he could get used to it.   



	7. Tea!

A/N: I'm sorry this took forever to get out! I had finals, and then work started, and. . . well, I should be back on schedule now. Chapter eight is started (at long last) and I'm working on the appendix. . . it will evenutally be reposted on another website.   
  
Another note must go out to the lovely Christine Bubbles, who very graciously agreed to Brit-beta for me. Along with She's A Star, I hope this fic will show the improvement. Any other mistakes are mine and mine alone. Reviews are always, of course, appreciated and much loved.  
  
Cheers!  
  
Chapter 7: Tea!  
  
Rise and shine! Harry blinked his eyes rapidly in face of the sudden flood of light that filled his room. Ouch. This was painful. One minute, he'd been having a fantastic dream in his nice, _dark _room. . . and the next he was staring into Severus Snape's sallow face.   
  
Huh-- what? Snape? What the hell-- Harry pushed himself up, utterly bewildered by the twisted little smile residing on Snape's face.   
  
Language, Potter, Snape said, sounding positively delighted-- which he probably was. Evil bastard. Harry hated him. Which wasn't new, or anything. . . but it was five bloody o'clock in the morning. Surely a little more loathing wouldn't hurt?  
  
I hate you, Harry muttered, dropping his face into his pillow to muffle the words.   
  
What was that, Potter?  
  
Go Harry muttered, pulling his blankets over his head. Ah. That was better. Nice, quiet, dark, and-- he cracked one eye open. No, his vision wasn't fooling him.  
  
It was Snape. Again.  
  
Go away, Snape, Harry growled, tugging on the blankets to get them back. Go _away, _he repeated, flopping onto his back.   
  
Snape said coolly, his bony fingers closing around the light coverlet. Now, up and at em, Potter. I believe you're doing all the household chores today?   
  
Bugger off, Harry mumbled, his fingers feeling around for his glasses.   
  
What was that?  
  
Harry said grumpily, pushing his way out of bed and glaring at Snape. Oh, where was Amalthea when you needed her? he ordered as he slid his feet into the slippers. My room. Not yours.  
  
Little wonder, Potter, why you are the savior of the wizarding world if you can determine-- A strangled gasp cut him off.  
  
Harry, deciding that living was quite overrated, had picked up a pillow and hurled it at Snape's head.  
  
  
  
-------  
  
Amalthea had her hands fixed around a cup of coffee and was staring mournfully into its depths when Harry had finally managed to comb all the feathers out of his hair and was scrubbing the dishes with a faint smile on his face.  
  
Do I want to know? she asked finally, sending him a nervous look.  
  
I won, Harry said smugly, giving the glass a final pat with the sponge before moving onto the plates.   
  
I didn't want to know, I think, she said with a sigh. She poked absently at the sugar before taking a long sip of coffee. Does it seem like we've been here longer than a few days to you?  
  
Several years, Severus sniped as he entered the room and glared at Harry.  
  
Thank you, Amalthea said dryly, passing him the toast and rubbing a hand against her neck. Long enough for you to have mastered toast, at any rate.  
  
Snape curled his lip at her and poured himself a cup of juice. Harry smirked faintly at the dishes and finished up with a spray of hot water across the counter.   
  
Come eat, Harry, Amalthea said finally, rising from the table with her empty plates. You don't eat enough, she added, taking the bacon from Snape and passing it over.   
  
I wasn't finished, Snape complained, spearing his eggs with a trifle more vengence than necessary.   
  
Oh, poor you, Amalthea said placidly as she tipped her coffee cup up for the last dregs.   
  
Why do you drink that sludge?   
  
she replied matter-of-factly. I need it. You kept me up last night with your snoring. Harry could have sworn that she threw him a quick wink before turning to wash her dishes.   
  
Snape raised an eyebrow. I have never _snored, _Amalthea, and I am fairly certain that I did not start last night.   
  
Ron snores, Harry offered as he dug into his breakfast.   
  
Well, that was enlightening, Snape snapped. I'm certain my entire life shall be improved by that stellar bit of knowledge.  
  
It was polite conversation.  
  
It was completely nonessential conversation, that's what it was.  
  
Don't start, Amalthea said warningly. She brandished the a fork at the two of them, and Harry swallowed. It's too early in the morning to start. I just barely had my coffee, and it's not nearly as good as the stuff they sell in Hogsmeade, so _don't push me._  
  
. . . who talks like that, anyway? Harry asked snidely after checking to make sure Amalthea was happily settled with her second cup of coffee. Completely nonessential conversation? He dropped his voice to a lower growl to mimic Snape and the older man sneered at him.  
  
Potter, simply because you limit your vocabularly to Quidditch terms--  
  
I talk about more than Quidditch! Harry said indignantly.   
  
Oh, I'm certain the occasional remark about the female sex crosses your lips as well--  
  
Get stuffed, Harry growled under his breath as he finished breakfast.  
  
Be nice, Amalthea chided absently. Snape regarded Amalthea as if she had just informed him that Voldemort was designing a line of women's undergarments. Amalthea raised an eyebrow in return and pushed her spectacles up her noes.   
  
This is quite a civil exchange for Potter and I, Amalthea.   
  
she asked wryly, eyeing the coffee pot as if deciding whether or not to have a third go. Well, it's so nice to know that we have good relationships in this facade.  
  
I think so, Harry said cheerfully. I'm going over to Thomas's, all right?  
  
No, you aren't, Snape snapped. His black eyes glittered. You're staying here today.  
  
Amalthea began, rubbing her forehead with a sigh.  
  
Harry said, nodding very seriously. You're absolutely right. I'd much rather stay here and follow you all over the house, talking about Quidditch, and then, when you leave, I'll just organize all your clothes--  
  
Snape had gone pale. Really, Potter, there's no need to make a nuisance of yourself. I'm certain that you can do that just as well with your little friends.  
  
Oh, thanks! Harry said brightly, as if it had been Snape's idea in the first place. I'll be back before tea to talk, all right?  
  
That's fine, Amalthea said indulgently. Do you want some money in case you go out? Get yourself a snack or something like.   
  
Harry grinned a little shyly. That would be nice, thanks.   
  
Amalthea smiled back at him, ignoring Snape's obvious displeasure. There are a few pounds in my purse, go ahead and take it all. I'll get more money later on.   
  
In response to Snape's glare, she rolled her eyes. Come off of it, Severus. He's not spoiled in the least. In fact, I get the impression that he hasn't had a lot of happiness in his lifetime.  
  
Snape spat. A vein in his forehead was throbbing lightly. He's the darling of the wizarding world, Amalthea. He's been given _everything_--  
  
You don't know that, Amalthea said sensibly. There's something odd about him that I see. And I don't think a lot of people notice this.   
  
Like what? Snape asked, a sneer crossing his face that plainly said the only thing wrong with Potter was the fact of his existence.  
  
Like why does he wear such nice robes at Hogwarts and Muggle hand-me-downs underneath them? Amalthea asked, her eyebrows raised. Why did he practically beg Albus to stay at Hogwarts over the summer?  
  
Because he's used to getting what he wants, Snape replied dryly. And like everyone else, you are blinded by the fact of his fame.   
  
Amalthea shook her head. I don't think so. She piled the rest of the dishes in the sink. And it wouldn't kill you to be a little nicer to him, either.  
  
Snape said, looking doubtful about her sanity. I am _not_ a nice person. Nor do I have any desire to become one.   
  
She laughed softly. I believe I caught that, Severus. Her face turned serious for a moment. But at least try being somewhat civil to him. I don't know how much longer I can stand this constant arguing without dragging Albus into it. She shot him a meaningful look. I'm sure he'd be so pleased to have to come pull you out of this mission because you couldn't control your dislikes.  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow at her. Blackmail, Amalthea? How Slytherin of you. She continued to look at him, and he conceded after a few minutes. Very well. I'll attempt such an impossible exercise.   
  
How generous, Amalthea said sardonically. She sent him a quick smile.   
  
I do try. His shoulders slumped, just noticeably. How long until tea? he asked neutrally, drumming his fingers against the counter.  
  
Her eyes narrowed, but she decided to let it go. Not until four o'clock.   
  
He grunted. And I suppose this will be one of the last days we can permanantly ship Potter off to his friend's?  
  
She tried very hard to hide a smile. Sorry, Severus.   
  
Very well, Snape said with a sigh. I'm going to explore the neighborhood, map out possible routes of escape-- for us, or for our favorite agents, I don't know yet. Perhaps I'll ask around for some information.  
  
Leave the diplomacy to me, Amalthea advised, drying the last dish. You scare people.  
  
He snorted. People are, for the most part, idiots, Amalthea. He looked around the house. What do you plan to do?  
  
She wiped her hands on her skirt. I think I'll experiment with the . . . conputer? I think that's what it's called. No, she corrected herself. It's the _computer_. Harry told me a little about it last night-- he didn't know very much either, and it seems quite helpful.   
  
I don't know if I would trust what Potter thinks. . . he trailed off at the sight of her expression. Oh, very well. I will see you in a few hours, then.  
  
Pick Harry up on your way home, please, she called after him as she settled down at the computer. He grunted again and she pressed the on button, dismissing thoughts of Severus and Harry. Hmm. This would be interesting.  
  
E-mail, Internet. . . . she murmured to herself. Hmm. Chat. I wonder what that is.  
  
-------  
  
The text scrolled across the faintly glowing screen.   
_  
so u wanna cyber??/_  
  
Amalthea stared in confusion at the computer. She'd been getting along very well, entering the Women Over Thirty chat room and watching the text run by at rapid paces. . . but no one had ever mentioned this before. Well, it sounded vaguely intergalactic, and she _was_ rather an expert in matters such as those.  
  
_Sure.  
  
_She took a long sip of her ice water and leaned forward, loosening the collar of her pale grey blouse as she did so. Goodness, but perhaps she ought to open a window in here. It was dreadfully uncomfortable--   
  
_r u hot rite now?  
  
_She blinked at the screen. How had it done that?   
  
_Yes. . . how did you know?  
  
_She was hard-pressed to supress a smile as she wait for her chat partner' to finish typing. Muggle technology was really quite fascinating-- it was amazing, the tricks they pulled in order to get around not having magic. . .  
  
_i have my ways. what r u wearing?  
  
_Perhaps she was even speaking' with a Muggle weather predictor!   
  
_Blouse and skirt.  
  
_She tapped a fingernail against the keyboard.   
  
_take it off.  
  
_She blinked.  
  
_Sorry?  
  
_He couldn't have meant _that_.  
  
_*hehe* take it off, baibie.   
  
_Now, this was getting rather irritating. She had told him quite clearly her name was Amalthea.   
  
_iz gettin to hot for u, rite?  
  
_Oh, it was simply a peculiar Muggle weather instruction. She pressed a hand over her flaming cheeks. She really had to stop blushing at every simple instruction that came her way. Casting a nervous glance over her shoulder, she unbuttoned her blouse and slid it off her shoulders. Very well, then. Harry was off with Severus, and she was perfectly safe in her own house.  
  
_Okay. . . I took off my blouse. Now what?  
  
_She unsuccessfully resisted the temptation to snatch Severus' light jacket and huddle inside it. She was simply not accustomed to sitting around, half-dressed, regardless of the effect on the weather.   
  
_i am a twenty-six yr old male wit a big one 4 u!!!1  
  
_She flushed, reaching for a bourbon biscuit and popping it into her mouth. Muggles were so dreadfully peculiar. . . she couldn't imagine why they couldn't just come right out and say what they meant for her to do.  
  
_. . .   
  
u wanna go down on me? rite? or do u wanna me too rok u r world?_  
  
Amalthea stood up, the jacket sliding off of her shoulders. Now, this was clearly not a weather predictor. This was. . . her face turned scarlet. Muggles! They were deranged!  
  
_WHAT?!?_  
  
Amalthea, I would ask what you're doing, but I believe I'm rather afraid of the answer, came Snape's voice dryly behind her. Would you like to take the time to dress yourself?   
  
Her mouth opened wide as he strode past her to the computer. Amalthea, what have you been doing? He sounded more than slightly exasperated. Humph. See him deal with those idiotic Muggles.  
  
she said indignantly even as she buttoned her blouse back up, aware that she was blushing furiously. Blame the Muggles! They're-- they're twisted! They're-- well, they're just insane!   
  
Who's insane? Harry asked, wandering into the study with a package of sweets that he was trying to get in with his teeth. He took it out of his mouth with a sigh and looked at it. Can somebody help me open this?  
  
Amalthea is insane, Snape said sourly as he snatched the package from Harry and brandished a letter opener like a sword. And if you'd just have patience, perhaps you could open packages without resorting to animalistic techniques.  
  
Muggles are insane, Amalthea retorted, folding her arms and glaring at the computer. The little chat icon was blinking away merrily, but she merely gave it a very Snape-like sneer and turned to Harry. You're having sweets for dinner?  
  
Harry shrugged. I like sweets. I'll have a glass of milk or something with it, he said in response to her raised eyebrow.   
  
Amalthea, charming as it is to see you act as a nutritionist--  
  
We'll fix something, Amalthea said abruptly, taking the package from Harry's hands and marching off towards the kitchen. Come on, perhaps we can try making something to eat.   
  
Snape snorted at Potter's slightly demoralized look as he watched the sweets go with Amalthea into the kitchen.  
  
Amalthea said sternly, poking her head out of the room, you come too.   
  
------  
  
Hold this, please, Harry directed, handing Amalthea a measuring cup as Snape glared malevolently at some vegetables Harry had chopped.   
  
What part cut it evenly' do you not understand?  
  
They are even! Harry snapped back, jabbing a finger at the celery. Amalthea gave a soft sigh and looked at the water she held. First it had been about washing the plates before the table was set, then if the floor should be cleaned each morning. . . she was going to go mad. Positively, barking mad.   
  
After this perhaps a nice shot at defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would be in order.  
  
Snape curled a lip at it. Shoddy work, shoddy work. It's no wonder, really, why your grades are what they are.  
  
My grades are fine, Harry said grumpily.   
  
She was fairly certain You-Know-Who did not argue with his minions over the process of cutting vegetables. Maiming Muggles, probably, but not celery.   
  
_That _would be an amusing conversation to witness, really.   
  
This, however, was not.  
  
For Merlin's sake, have you learned _nothing _in Potions? If you put your fingers there and the knife slips, you lose your fingers. Now, if you are truly that anxious to emulate a few accident-prone individuals, by all means, continue what you are doing.  
  
How would you know-- Harry began to retort with dangerous spirit, but trailed off at the sight of Snape's triumphant face. Evidently, he had remembered that Snape did indeed teach Potions, and would know the proper procedure for chopping things. Never mind, he mumbled to the carrots.   
  
You wouldn't be conceding the point, would you? Snape arched an eyebrow in a weird sort of muted triumph. The great Harry Potter. . . wong? It couldn't possibly be, he said, his voice veritably oozing sarcasm as he looked down his nose at Harry.   
  
Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you? Amalthea muttered to herself as she fetched the glasses from the cabinet. I certainly can't wait for the rest of the summer.  



End file.
